


Don't say you'd rather walk

by Greyscales (sablescales)



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Allspark Sam Witwicky, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bot!Sam, Everybody Lives, F/M, Female Sam, Human/Transformer Relationships (Transformers), Not Canon Compliant, Other, Self-Insert, Transformer Sparklings, dead memes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-20 18:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablescales/pseuds/Greyscales
Summary: "Sam" isn't quite right. For one, she's not a boy, she can't run, and she isn't Sam Witwicky.Author's note: I wrote this mostly for fun. Maybe you'll find some enjoyment out of it too.
Relationships: Bumblebee (Transformers)/Original Female Character(s), Bumblebee/Sam Witwicky
Comments: 25
Kudos: 59





	1. Not Sam, not even close

**Author's Note:**

> I never meant to post this, it’s supposed to be halfways a curious  
> experiment and wish fulfilment. As for the plot… “Samantha” is  
> an OC-insert in place of Sam, except they recognize that they are  
> severely lacking in several areas. Anxiety abounds.

I suppose I should be grateful that I’m not _Sam_ , even though everyone has been calling me that. I’m not male. I’m not a teenager. I’m neither one fuse short of an oven (crazy), nor obsessed with Mikaela. I’m not outgoing, and I don’t care about owning a car. Furthermore, I distrust most people, though I try to look for the best in people anyway. Despite the horror of waking up as a 16 year old ‘Samantha’ Witwicky, I’m glad my stubbornness managed to keep my memories and sense of self intact through this… whatever is happening.

God, I hate this.

“Welcome to Burger Queen, how may I take your order please.”

“Um. One second… What do you want?” The customer, a young-ish woman with a strict ponytail, asks the bouncing seven year old at her side.

Said seven year old absolutely can not focus, and not for lack of trying on the woman’s part to keep them so.

_It’s amazing I haven’t gone crazy and smashed this place,_ I think wryly. I mean, I would probably not actually do it. But, you know what they say about the quiet ones.

I remind myself why I’m doing this. Though I don’t care about owning a car, _Sam_ does. The deal with his dad over buying him half a car was made before I got here. If I’m being real here, I don’t know if my body-snatching—er, life-snatching situation is permanent, and I would rather have the $2000 than not. So, I decided to get the money by doing it the hard way: I got a job.

A couple, actually. _Sam’s_ mom got me a job in babysitting when I mentioned my plans to work for the money. I knew that wouldn’t be enough, though. So, I sent my resumé out and landed a job at a local fast food joint. It’s nothing like the job I had in my previous life, that’s for sure. I will just have to suffer through it until I have the money Sam needs.

I snap out of my thoughts when the young mother finally makes up her mind and I take her order.

The rest of the shift goes by like usual.

When I get back to base—Sam’s home—I have to struggle with the urge to just collapse in bed fully-clothed. Grabbing a towel, I get started on my night routine, including a nice hot shower.

Eventually, I’m sitting refreshed at the desk with the computer, checking Sam’s bookmarks again. Guessing the password to his computer was easy. Once I was in, I started exploring to learn more about Sam. I don’t know when Sam is supposed to have posted his great-great-grandfather’s glasses on Ebay, and I don’t feel great about the idea of doing so for him, either.

Just like the other hundred times I’ve checked, there is nothing in the bookmarks or browsing history indicating Sam has an Ebay account and is hocking his family’s stuff. His search history doesn’t reveal anything either.

There’s got to be another way to get the Autobots’ attention that doesn’t involve selling historical artifacts.

An hour and a half into searching the web aimlessly, it suddenly hits me. They’re historical artifacts. There are forums and groups for that shit, right? Hell, I could probably even make a whole website dedicated to Witwicky history, it would make a great cover story! With a manic grin, I start prepping Sam’s computer with the development environment to begin coding the site.

==

It hits me the very next day exactly _what_ I’m prescribing to by advertising the All-Spark’s location via the glasses. Oh my god, I can’t even begin to explain how much of a bad idea it is. Just think about it, this is _me_ , not _Sam_. Sam is a runner, he knows how to _haul ass_ and get through a stressful situation mostly intact. He seems cowardly sometimes, but he’s the kind of person that shows leadership in times of need. I can barely hike five miles without wanting to kill myself, not to mention the giant killer robots. I’m not a leader, I’m not _Sam._

Fuck, I’m not even a _Witwicky_ ; the motto doesn’t mean shit to me! Am I willing to jump off a building to keep a magical artifact out of enemy hands? Will I even get that far? Is the world doomed because of me?

I spend the whole day in school hiding my shaking hands. I wish the world wasn’t stuck in 2007 and that I had my laptop to take notes with. Thankfully, the evening is spent in my babysitting gig, and the kids are actually kind of sweet, surprisingly enough. It gives me a moment to think through things and to come to terms with a few things.

==

Have I ever liked dogs? I mean, Mojo is cute enough… for a rat. I feel sorry for him more than anything. While thinking this, I push—and I mean _push_ (not hit) him to prevent him from humping my leg. I don’t know what it is about Mojo and the need to do that. It’s disgusting.

“Sam! Be careful!”

I look up to see Judy glaring at me. Oops.

“Sorry,” I say, though I’m honestly not at all, “Just didn’t want his dick juice on my leg.”

When my brain catches up with my mouth, I wince. Another oops.

“Sam!”

“Sorry.”

Judy sighs, and puts down the bag she was carrying. The look she gives me then puts me on edge. I know that look—it means a serious ‘family talk’ is coming.

A mixture of helplessness, frustration, and guilt stirs violently in me, and with all the self control I have, I reign it in. Outwardly, my shoulders tense and my eyes flicker between her and the nearby exits. I really don’t want to have this talk with her.

I know what she’s going to say, and I know I can only lie to make her feel better about it. I hate lies. I may be old and bitter, but I’m not a liar. _My mother_ didn’t raise me to be that way.

_My mother isn’t here right now_ , I think viciously. My eyes begin to feel watery, and I violently stamp on the feeling until it goes away. Damn teenage hormones.

“Sam, I want to let you know that your father and I are so proud of you. You are working so hard to buy that car… and I’ve even caught you studying lately, which you’ve never done before,” she starts, and I know the positives are only to butter me up for what she has to say next, “But your father and I are concerned.”

I say nothing, because I have nothing good to say about that. _But,_ a corner of my mind whispers, _they’re only concerned for their son or daughter, who you for all purposes are right now. They don’t deserve your frustration or ire,_ it speaks reasonably.

I close my eyes for a minute. I take a deep breath in, taking all the rage and violent feelings inside me…

“Sammy?” She asks with genuine concern.

_Shit._

… and let the feelings go in a slow exhale.

When I open my eyes, my mouth quirks in a small smile that I hope appears real. I shrug in response, and say quietly, “Every child has to grow up sometime. I just realized that I couldn’t keep going half-heartedly at things if I wanted to get anywhere in life.”

The look in her eyes tells me this was exactly _not_ the thing to say, as her face pinches in an expression of oncoming waterworks. Her arms spread and she rushes me, causing me to feel a moment of panic as I wonder what to do now with an armful of crying mother. _My mother_ never did this.

“You’ll always be my baby!” She cries.

And then, “You’re not allowed to grow up!”

Guilt causes me to spend the rest of the evening helping Judy make dinner, and then watch a movie from Ron’s collection with them. By the end of the night, I’m exhausted from all the social interaction, but I grudgingly admit that Sam’s parents are weird but alright.


	2. Disregard people, acquire transportation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sam" tries to save a man's livelihood while getting a car she never asked for.

Slogging through the year was a pain, but not for the reason most would think. I knew most of what was being taught, and what I didn’t know was easily studied up on. No, that wasn’t why it was a pain. What was tough was pretending to be someone I really wasn’t. The real me wasn’t outgoing and ruled by their hormones. The real me was quiet and _practical_ damn it. I suffered quietly through the pain and used moderately non-violent means to get desired results. I stamped down my emotions and attempted to think about things before I did them.` 

So whenever Trent or others bullied me, I stubbornly held back my inner rage and didn’t allow them the satisfaction of knowing they got to me. I stayed quiet, avoiding Trent and his posse whenever I could. I ignored the cheerleaders that apparently _Samantha_ had tried to join once but failed. I focused on getting A’s and making money.

Trent’s tires got mysteriously slashed once, but there is no proof linking any of that to me.

Anyway, the genealogy report. It went fine. Without hocking Sam’s great-great-grandfather’s stuff in the classroom, I managed an easy A. I thank the professor before leaving and hurry to the waiting car outside.

“From that look on your face, I’m guessing you got an A,” Ron huffs with pride and amusement.

“I’ve been getting A’s all semester. You know me,” I say matter-of-factly, “Now, I believe you owe me a car, _dad_.”

He looks taken-aback at first, then he grunts with forced calm, “Yeah, yeah. Get in.”

Yeah, I called him dad. I don’t normally do so, as I still love and recall a different family… and I know this sounds bad, but I _really_ want Ron to buy me that Camaro at a reputable place. At this point, I have more money than I need for the deal Sam made, but I want to keep the rest of my money _just in case_. It’s liberating to have my own money to buy things. I’m too used to adulting to go back to living as a minor under someone else’s rules.

Judy still cries sometimes, but she has been making strides in giving me more freedom and space. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be feeling sad or guilty at that, but it has been greatly appreciated. In turn, I spend time with her. She calls it ‘mother-daughter time’.

Interestingly, the whole Porsche joke doesn’t happen, and he brings us straight to Bobby Bolivia’s.

Shit.

Well, here we go.

Stepping out of the car, I grunt in distaste at the selection available. “Are these even street-legal?”

Ron appears to falter, but is firm. “I’m sure they only need a little love and care.”

“If I die, that’s on your conscience,” I joke lightly.

“Sorry,” I add with a wince in afterthought.

For someone who likes to think things through, my mouth has this wonderful ability to run away from me. Maybe it’s a part of being ‘Sam’. Who knows… I really don’t want to think about that.

“Well hello, Bobby Bolivia, like the country—except without the runs,” he introduces himself with a laugh. “How can I help you?”

I resist the urge to cringe at the joke.

“My daughter, here, is going to buy her first car.”

Bobby gestures to himself, looking as if he’s surprised by this. “And you came to me?”

 _Hamming it up, aren’t you,_ I inwardly comment as I cross my arms.

“Why, that practically makes us family. Uncle Bobby B, baby. Uncle Bobby B.”

He shakes Ron’s hand with a cheesy smile.

“Let me tell you, girl,” Bobby says, leading us among the cars, “Your first enchilada of freedom waits under one of these hoods.”

I eye a beat-up rust-bucket of a car before quietly scoffing. Ron gives me a warning look, and I give him a look in return that I hope expresses my exasperation at the used car salesman’s antics.

“… The driver don’t pick the car; the car picks the driver.”

I tune him out as, from the corner of my eye, a familiar Camaro rolls in and sneaks into a parking space. I probably would have missed it if I wasn’t expecting it. My hands are beginning to shake again with my growing nervousness and anticipation. This is really happening. Oh god. I force my eyes to Bobby B and don’t look at the fuckin’ _alien_ Camaro just begging to be bought. I don’t think of running for my life and failing everyone. I don’t think of the life I’ve for sure left behind by some act of divine intervention.

I do another breathing exercise. Breathe in rainbows, breathe out stormclouds… breathe…

I gather my wits about me in time to hear ‘Uncle Bobby B’ yell to his ‘Mami’ and receive the finger in return. He jokes about her being deaf and busting her head in with a rock, but I’m unamused. Bobby B’s laughter is strained and grating on the ears but I tolerate it.

Rainbows in, stormclouds out… I force myself to relax. By this time, we’ve wandered by the suspicious Camaro with racing stripes.

I could pretend to be surprised and discover Bumblebee, but I have already made up my mind on how I want our introduction to go. Taking a deep breath, I pat the roof of the Camaro.

“I’ll take this one.”

Ron is startled, as is Bobby B, but I look the car salesman unwaveringly straight in the eyes.

“… You sure know what you want. Actually, hang on a sec, I don’t know nothing ‘bout this car. Manny!”

He calls to someone at a distance, and they exchange some words I don’t pay attention to. I open the Camaro’s door and slide into the driver’s seat, all the while feeling awkward at the idea that the Camaro was only pretending to be a car and was actually a sentient alien robot. Oh yeah, that is going to take some getting used to. Bumblebee’s interior is dusty, and I muffle a sneeze.

“Sorry,” I say reflexively.

The ‘car’ pretends to be a car though, and doesn’t answer. Feeling some doubts begin to settle in, my next words are said quietly and a bit unsurely.

“Hello, Bumblebee.”

His radio turns on suddenly, but it quickly turns off again. An accident, probably in surprise.

I laugh, and it sounds as overwhelmed as I feel.

“Man, do we have a lot to talk about,” I joke with no small amount of foreshadowing. “I’ve been waiting.”

The moment is interrupted by the return of Bobby B, who steps up to the driver’s side to talk prices.

“Okay, tell you what. Considering the semi-classic nature of the vehicle, the slick wheels, and the custom paint job… five grand,” Bobby offers to Ron.

I wince, knowing what Ron was going to say about that.

“Sorry, I’m not going over four.”

Yep.

I look to Ron with a pitiful, pleading look. “ _Dad,_ please. This is the only sensible choice in this entire car lot. _It has to be this one_.”

For a second, Ron pauses, and for that moment I think he’s about to bend for once. If my eyes could sparkle, I know they would be as I focus sheer puppy-dog into my expression.

“… Sorry, hun.”

Damn it! I hang my head, staring at my hands uselessly. I could try arguing more, but I know how much Ron believes in the Witwicky motto.

_No sacrifice, no Camaro._

“Nope. Sorry, kid, get out of the car.”

I slowly reach for the door and get out. I have the faint feeling that property damage is about to happen, though I had hoped to avoid it.

“Now this car,” Bobby gets in the car next to Bumblebee, “for four grand, drove all the way from Alabama.”

Just as expected, when I close the door to the driver’s side, the opposing door swings open hard and dents the car next to it… the car Bobby is in. The poor man is rattled. I struggle to find my empathy and not laugh.

“Are you okay?” Ron asks the salesman with concern.

“It’s no problem, this… I’ll have someone hammer this right out. Manny!”

I pat Bumblebee’s hood soothingly, and decide to try haggling now.

“This car is obviously in need of repair, if the passenger door is any indication. Just imagine if it opens randomly while on the road! Are you telling me this is street-legal? Four thousand,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster.

Bobby B leers at me for the attempt. “For this classic? You’re out of your mind. Five grand, missy.”

I hear the beginnings of the radio being turned on, and I persist.

“Just the repairs alone for a classic will cost anyone up to hundreds. If it isn’t street-legal, why are you selling it? Forty two hundred.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, kid. Why don’t we try another car.”

“I know what I want and you can bet we won’t find it elsewhere,” I say stubbornly, brow furrowed.

We reach what seems to be a stalemate. I am unwilling to go over forty five hundred and Bobby B seems unwilling to part with the Camaro for anything less than five thousand. Though, my willingness to haggle seems to stir something in him.

“You know what, you’re alright. Just for you, missy, forty five.”

Though it isn’t the price I was aiming for, I’m willing to take it. Though my future laptop fund will suffer the increase in price… Maybe I should’ve let Bee destroy this man’s business? I shake my head. I may not like the car salesman, but he still needs to sell these cars to make a living.

“You know, I’m not paying more than we agreed,” Ron murmurs as I walk with him and Bobby to the store to finalize things.

I sigh, assuring him, “I know. I’ll pay the extra five hundred.”

“I didn’t think you had it in you to haggle like that,” he smiles at me encouragingly.

I quirk a smile at him, “Yeah? Neither did I.”

==

It’s a little embarrassing admitting to an advanced alien robot that I’m a shitty driver, but I do so anyway because I don’t want to crash the poor ‘bot. Setting my hands on the wheel, I proceed to pretend to drive as Bumblebee drives… himself, back to base.

Once parked in the driveway, I give the ‘bot a critical look before deciding he needs to be cleaned. I glance around to see if anyone’s listening, and then turn back to Bumblebee.

“I don’t even want to know how you managed to get so filthy. Wait here, I’ll wash you,” I promise him, before running off.

For a second I forget about Ron’s stance on his grass, before I hop back onto the path with a paranoid look to the windows. _Geez_ , I think, _I’ll never understand that man._

Entering the house, I take the stairs two at a time. To say I’m a bit nervous and twitchy is an understatement.

I hear Judy exclaim, “Wow, someone’s excited!”

I pick through _Samantha’s_ warddrobe. Luckily, Samantha seems to prefer comfortable clothing. I pick some black biking shorts and a fitted yellow t-shirt. Ha. ‘Fitting’. I consider throwing it back, but decide to just roll with it. I stop by the garage before coming back to the Camaro with a bucket, sponge, and soap.

“Hey look, we match,” I joke.

The radio crackles to life, and it says, _“Lookin’ good, darlin’.”_

I smile, encouraged by his response. I reach for the nearby hose and fill the bucket. The more I move, the more I relax. I can almost forget my worries for a bit. I add the soap and mix it with the sponge. Yup. Just me and the car…

The second my sponge swipes his front bumper near his grill, Bumblebee _jolts_.

I fluster, immediately removing the sponge from his frame.

“Sorry!” I half-yell, hands in the air.

_“No… Everything’s alright…”_

“I can avoid your grill or bumper? It does seem to have bugs on it, though…”

There’s a bit of silence, before, _“Hit me baby one more time!”_

I titter in nervous amusement. “Okay… you know what, it might be better to use the hose for this…” I pause, before warning, “It’s probably cold. Prepare yourself.”

_“I was born ready!”_

With an adjustment to the nozzle, the cold spray hits the grill and bumper. To Bee’s credit, he barely moves this time.

The rest of the car wash seems to go unremarkably, if you can believe it. There’s a few moments that he shudders under my… ministrations, but I manage to get him sparkling clean by the end of it all with no more interruptions. I even get the interior with a clean cloth.

“All nice and clean. You’re like new!”

_“Aw yeah!”_

I laugh, patting his hood gently. “Well, sorta. I’m guessing you chose this model to blend in.”

==

That night, Bumblebee drives off with purpose. He’s probably going to send a message to the team. I eye him from the window, shrug, and then turn back to the website I’m working on. I remove the picture of the glasses, hoping that it isn’t too late to remove it. I don’t trust my odds where Decepticons are concerned.

When I sleep, I have a nightmare of clawed servos/hands tearing through ‘bots until they reach me. I wake up just as it manages to tear through my middle.

_“All-Spark! Mine!”_

==


	3. Roll Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sam" goes to work and Things Happen.

The next morning comes too soon. I wake up in the wierdest of poses and tangled in the bedsheets, indicating I probably tossed and turned all night. A fine layer of sweat makes me feel gross and uncomfortable. Somewhere in my temples is a small throbbing pain promising that today is goING TO BE GREAT.

The day hasn’t even started and I’m already tired and a done with the world.

I shake off the blanket and get up. Knowing today is going to be rough, I choose a t-shirt I don’t mind sweating in and some jeans. Heading to the bathroom, I take a quick shower and change into the clothes I picked out. Combing my long-ish hair and finishing my routine, I check myself over in the mirror to see if I’m presentable.

I note the hazel eyes and shape of my face that shows resemblance to the Sam Witwicky I know. I look like I could be his sister. A chill rocks my spine. It just seems wrong. I’m trying to adapt, but the mirror is wrong and I hate it.

White-ass brunette, a bit pale but well-kempt. Okay, I can live with that.

I reach for the medicine cabinet. Grabbing a single pill of painkillers, I head downstairs for some breakfast.

“Good morning, sweetie!” Judy greets me.

I grunt a good morning and grab a glass of orange juice, popping the pill.

She eyes me for a second before asking, “You okay, honey? You don’t look too hot. Is it the heat?”

I shake my head in reply, muttering, “It’s just a headache. I had a rough night.”

“Aww. Well, I made some bacon, why don’t you make some toast and sit down for a bit?”

At this, I smile sincerely at her. She really didn’t have to, but it’s sweet that she did so.

“Thanks, _mom_.”

She beams at me and loads up my plate with bacon as I pop some bread into the toaster. I grab an apple, too.

“By the way, honey, when did you trade in your car? It looks so slick!”

I stare at her blankly. _What?_

==

I don’t remember what excuse I made, but I shovelled down my food like a starving man and ran outside to where Bumblebee should be. What greets my tired eyes is a New Chevrolet Camaro with racing stripes. So shiny and new. But what? Why?

My mouth drops and I stutter out, “B-B-Bee, you look great!”

_“Thank you, thank you very much.”_

“But, now don’t take this the wrong way,” I stumble worriedly, “But there was nothing wrong with how you looked before. Was it something I said?”

_“No, honey, no~… I feel pretty, oh so pretty~”_

I quirk a smile and pat his hood. “You are a pretty ‘bot… Though I suppose that’s weird to say considering I haven’t seen you transform.”

Bee seems to play with his radio a bit before stopping with a simple, _“Thank you.”_

==

After brushing my teeth and grabbing my work bag with my work uniform, I head back to the spankin’ new Camaro in the driveway. I feel a bit bad using Bumblebee as a mode of transport. It’s just weird, though I’m trying to get used to it. Also, I feel guilty over having him wait while I finish my shift.

As he’s driving me to my workplace with me pretending again, I let him know how I feel.

_“Don’t worry ‘bout it… You worry too much.”_

“Well, it’s not like you’re an actual car. You’re a person, and people get bored.”

_“Greater than man… on the Internet! … News weekly… Stay updated.”_

I frown, staring at the dashboard in thought. Well, transformers live very long lives, don’t they? Maybe I’m thinking too hard on this, and 8 hours is a drop in the bucket for him. He’ll probably spend it browsing the internet like he said. With a sigh and eyes to the road, I begin to smile.

“Well, I’ll be out as soon as I can anyway. Luckily, this is my last day, so you won’t have to worry about waiting out another shift again…” I trail off, then glance shyly at the dash, “You know, I actually want to go into computer programming. I have the skills, just not the right diploma or equipment, like a nice laptop…”

_“I like a woman with nice, big… brains!”_

I snort, dissolving into laughter. “I’m not sure if I can be considered smart. But, thank you.”

_“Aw, don’t be like that… You’ve gotta think big!”_

“Big like Bee?” I joke.

==

The shift goes by agonizingly slow, and my headache begins to return. By the time 4 o’clock comes around, I’m ready to lunge for the door. But, not wanting to be in my work clothes any longer, I go to the employees’ restroom and change into my former outfit.

I’m practically skipping to the robot-turned-Camaro in the parking lot in relief.

“I’m done! Where to now? Am I right to assume there’s a place you want to bring me to?” I huff, settling in snugly and setting my bag down in the passenger seat.

_“Bingo! Give the lady a prize!”_

I put my hands on the wheel, and we head out.

“A prize, you say?” I reply lightly, “Of the big-bot variety?”

_“Shower down from the heavens… Beautiful Stranger~… Do I know you?”_

I lean forward and stroke the dash with a more melancholy smile.

“I know a lot of things I shouldn’t,” I admit, “Including you, Bee. But don’t worry. I’m just a silly girl that knows too much. Anyway, I was hoping we could be friends.”

It might be my imagination, but I swear the seatbelt tightens around me.

==

The first sign that something is wrong is the rear-view mirror adjusting. It’s a bit weird, but I dismiss it. Does he see through the mirrors or something? The second sign is the weaving Bee does around traffic, as if he’s trying to quickly put distance between us and something. A cold feeling settles in my stomach, and my breath quickens. The last sign I don’t wait for.

“Bee, what are we running from.” I state blandly.

_“Hush little baby, don’t you cry~… Don’t worry… Everything will be alright.”_

I peer into the rear view mirror and see maybe one or two cars, but nothing familiar. In the distance, I can hear a siren, and my grip on the steering wheel tightens. _No_ , I think, _hell no._ I turn my head to look in the side mirror and see a black and white vehicle speeding in the oncoming lane. _Nope, nah-ah, not going to happen._

“Bee…” my voice wavers, “Is that a Decepticon?”

_“Hold on, sugar.”_

The seatbelt definitely tightens this time as Bee kicks up dust. I lurch back into the seat as the friendly alien hauls ass down the road. Traffic laws are definitely disregarded as the two Cybertronians try to run each other off the road. My hands let go of the wheel and clench the seatbelt over my chest in fear.

My mouth, in a hopefully rare show of stupidity, runs away from me.

“… I’m going to shoot your optic out you damn robo-cop bastard I’m too young to die—"

The Autobot swerves oddly, and I immediately stop ranting with a muttered ‘sorry’.

Bee makes a reckless turn into a dirt path, and understanding where this is going, I move to unbuckle myself. Remembering my bag, I secure it to my person. Looking frantically back into the rear window, I see the cop car barrel into the field as well. When the Camaro drifts to a stop, the door pops open and I dive out of the vehicle, turning my momentum into a roll that is made hard by the bag with me. It takes my breath away, and I miss the transformation behind me as I struggle to get onto my feet.

The clash of metal on metal makes me bolt away from the fight. I try not to look back as I run, but the temptation is strong. I hear something comparatively lighter hit the ground behind me, and I start swearing in my head as I realize Frenzy is here.

It’s impossible that I can outrun Frenzy. This is _me_ we’re talking about here. So I do what could be the next best thing or the worst idea ever. In my bag, buried under my work clothes, are a switchblade and a pistol. I have no idea what kind of pistol it is, I just let the shopowner choose for me. It was part of my _just in case_ plan. Anyway, trying not to break stride, I dig through the bag and grab the solid metal handle of the gun. Then I stop, spin around, and throw my bag in Frenzy’s face.

The little ‘con warbles and screeches angrily. Clothes and my knife spill out of the bag everywhere.

I flick off the safety and with two hands take aim at his face. I don’t have too much experience in this, but maybe I can blind him somehow or at least buy some time.

I fire two times. The first skims the side of his head and does no damage. The second shot occurs as Frenzy is leaping toward me, and embeds itself into his right optic. It flickers off like a faulty lightbulb.

The furious screeching is unreal, and very painful to me.

I back up and aim for his other optic. Three more shots. The first one doesn’t even hit him, the second takes out his other optic, and the third rebounds off his metal alloy frame—nearly hitting me. _Great,_ I think frantically, _I’m not only reckless but dangerous to myself._

It occurs to me a second later that I should run.

==

A dizzying and exhausting chase later, I’d somehow—possibly magically—managed to evade Frenzy. Now, I am just on my knees trying to regain my breath while also trying to not be too loud. _Damn it… Can’t breathe…_

I can’t hear the sounds of the titans fighting nearby, and I wonder if it’s safe. I look around. _Uh oh,_ I think nervously, _where am I actually?_

 _Bee…_ I think pleadingly, _please be alright… and come find me. Shit, I’m so lost._

==

After ten minutes of anxious pacing, I decide to get off my ass and do something, even if it means fighting a giant robot. I plod back the way I think I came, hoping to get closer to where the titans are fighting. As I go, I get vague recollections of turns I’d taken. Hopefully, Frenzy went back as well… I mean, it would be bad to come across him on my own.

The sound of metal against metal reaches my ears. I hurry, only to slip on something and tumble to the ground.

“Ow…” I hiss. _What did I—my knife!_

I grab the familiar handle in my off-hand and scramble onto my feet. Knowing I’m going in the right direction doesn’t calm my racing heartbeat, but the organ pumps with purpose in my chest. It’s dark and I can’t see very well without any streetlamps or other light. I squint to no avail, hoping I don’t come across anyone on the way.

Something _big_ with glowing blue optics moves in my vision, and I skid to a halt. _Bee!_

“Bee! Thank god you’re alright!” My eyes water as I move forward to hug a metal leg, “Are you alright? Did that guy hurt you?”

Bee whistles a jolly tune, and I smile—until I realize it didn’t come from above me, but rather behind me. My arms fly off the metal leg I’m embracing with a shriek, and I run toward where I think Bee is. I hit another leg with a quiet “Oomph!” and hide behind what I’m sure is actually my friendly yellow giant’s leg. I grasp the edge of his armour plating nervously.

“Is this the youngling?” A gruff but oddly familiar voice says.

An affirmative chirp answers, and a giant servo cradles my form. I fall backwards onto it, and have my breath stolen as I’m suddenly lifted into the air. I tuck my knife and gun away. Moving to sit up, I grab what I’ve determined is Bee’s thumb.

“Bee?” I ask quietly.

_“How ya doin’?”_

It takes me a second to form the words, with so many things I want to say warring in my head. I reach over to his face and place a hand to his ‘cheek’. It’s warm. Huh.

“… My earlier question still stands. Are you okay?” I ask again with concern.

_“Ain’t nobody gonna get one over on me… Coast is clear!”_

“Don’t know if that really answers my question, but okay mister. Who’s this, then?” I stare from my friend’s blue orbs to the other’s.

“Introductions later. We should vacate this area, it’s too open,” the stranger says.

I reluctantly agree. _Woah_ , I think as I’m lowered to the ground. The sound of transformation fills the air, and two pairs of headlights blink into existence, lighting the area. The stranger as I’ve been referring to them in my head is… a familiar truck.

“Ironhide?” I gasp, unable to help myself.

A suspicious rumble directed at me says, “How do you know my designation?”

“As you said, let’s go somewhere safe first.”

==

The sun is down and the sky’s darker than I remember my old city’s being. The streets are barely illuminated in this unknown alley in the middle of Nowhere, Tranquility. It lets me see some actual stars in the sky for once, but my attention is caught by the beings standing around me instead. The light is just enough to take in the forms of the tall, alien, but very familiar living entities I’m familiar with. They seem to stare at me with close scrutiny, watching every move and sound I make. Ironhide’s gaze _burns_ into my back.

Meanwhile, the only thing I can think is _damn, they’re tall._ I thought Bee was tall, but Optimus Prime towers over them all at an intimidating two-dozen feet at least. The aura he radiates has no description that can match the sheer majesty that is seeing the Autobot commander in person. Subconsciously, I edge toward Bumblebee.

The Prime kneels and lowers his helm to near eye-level with me, and interrogates with an intensity that makes me a little weak in the knees, “Are you Samantha Jane Witwicky, descendant of Archibald Witwicky?”

_No! Kinda? Maybe._

“… Yes,” I say eventually with more resignation than fear.

“You do not seem scared.”

For a second I think back to the very beginning, when I had woke up in this place as _Sam_. The anger, the fear, the trials, the emotional turbulence that even now hits me like a winter storm… But now I carefully wrap that all up tight and focus on the goal of keeping everyone alive. _Ignore_ the heavy feeling inside your gut. You _love_ these Autobots that don’t even know who you really are, and you want them to _live_.

So, think carefully and use your words _._

“I’ve been waiting for you, ever since I woke up a year ago with a vision of the future.”

At this admission, there seems to be excited movement and silent conversations.

Optimus Prime speaks, bringing everyone’s attention to him, “I wasn’t aware humans had this ability.”

I shake my head, saying, “They don’t, as far as I know. It’s… just me.”

 _You’re talking as if you’re not even human,_ I silently berate myself.

“What was this vision of the future?” He asks, shaking me from my berations.

“You, your team. Bee. Me.”

I turn to the smallest ‘bot, “That’s Jazz, your… first lieutenant, I think.”

“Got it in one, little lady.”

He does a flip and lands on a car behind him with a crunch. I quirk a smile at him, a small but genuine gesture of the love and joy at seeing him in person.

Before things can get awkward, I spin aboutface to Ironhide with more than a little apprehension. “… Ironhide. Weapons Specialist.”

The newly introduced ‘bot brings forth his cannons and they become active with a whine. The orange and blue glows from their barrels make me run for safety behind the nearest and safest place. This just happens to be Bumblebee. It was cool in the movie, but it’s terrifying to have those things pointed at you in person.

“You feelin’ lucky, p—hey.”

Bumblebee chitters in aggravation, hand reaching down to cup me protectively.

“Ironhide,” the Autobot leader warns.

“I’m just kidding. Just wanted to show her my cannons.”

After I calm down, I rap my knuckle lightly on Bee’s leg to get his attention. He buzzes down at me in curiosity, and I raise my arms in the universal gesture for ‘up’. With amusement, his servo gently scoops me up. He lifts me to eye-level with him, and I spare a smile to my gentle bug before adjusting myself to face forward. I search for Ratchet. It’s not hard, considering he’s almost flourescent yellow.

“This could only be Ratchet, your medical officer.”

A scan hits me, I think. It feels surprisingly tingly.

“Interesting, I’m sensing unusual patterns in the girl’s brain activity.”

 _Well, that’s off-script,_ I mentally note with wariness, _what does that mean?_

Shaking my head, I decide to ‘put a pin in it’ for now. I smooth my hand over Bee’s servo.

“I obviously know Bumblebee, my guardian. Now, I know he’s yours, but I’m quite attached.”

Bumblebee looks both happy and embarrassed at my little joke. I laugh openly and pat the servo holding me.

Ratchet interrupts, revealing a red laser that zaps Bee in the throat. The sunny yellow ‘bot stumbles a little, which causes me to yelp in alarm. He manages to not drop me thankfully.

“His vocal processors were damaged in battle. I’m still working on them.”

I give Ratchet a _look_ , which is ignored. I look to Prime before continuing the final introduction.

“And of course, the Autobot commander, Optimus Prime.”

“What else do you know?” Optimus Prime asks.

“I know there are Autobots and Decepticons from Cybertron, opposing factions that have been at war longer than I’ve been alive. Your planet is destroyed by this.”

“As for the cube you shot into space, The All-Spark is in the possession of a secret group called Sector Seven. _Sam_ , I mean me, supposedly gets captured by this group and brought to it. The Decepticons find Megatron in the same place as the cube, and a small group including me evacuates the cube to Mission City… Then, there’s death. Death of comrades, death of civilians… Death.”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us, then,” Jazz pipes up in the grim silence that pervades after that.

I look up again at Optimus Prime. Cybertronian faces aren’t as squishy and expressive as human faces are, but I can still see what I think is regret and firm resolve. Something ‘hums’ inaudibly in the air.

“It was never our intent to bring your world to harm,” he says, and I believe him.

“I know,” I reply softly, “All I ask is you let me help. I don’t want what I saw to come to pass.”

“Do you possess your great-great-grandfather’s glasses? It has on it the location to the cube.”

For the first time in a while, I smirk. “I can do you one better.”

==

They still want the glasses for comparison and safekeeping, but I haven’t been carrying it with me in my work bag. It’s probably for the best that I haven’t, considering I threw my bag and everything in it at Frenzy earlier. I didn’t even bother picking up my bag again. I only have my knife and my gun with me.

When we get to my house, I tell them to stay in vehicle mode before dashing inside.

“Honey! Where have you-“

“Can’t talk, I’ll explain later…“

Unlike _Sam,_ I know exactly where his great-great-grandfather’s glasses are. I grab them and run downstairs. To my surprise, as soon as I open the door, I am met with a team of black-suited individuals. _Shit._ I tuck the glasses surreptitiously into my free pocket as I back into the house.

“Samantha Witwicky. You’re a hard girl to find,” comes the slimy voice of an all-too-familiar Sector Seven agent.

_But- how? I didn’t even…_

==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a number of reasons she could have been caught. The one I'm going with is that the owner of the property had cameras set up at the places the fights happened. But if you have a better explanation, feel free to think that instead! :)


	4. Notice any deviations?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate or Canon stubbornly sticks, no matter what she's trying. At least she isn't in a locked room being interrogated. On the other hand, _Decepticons_. Yeah, not that great either.

I quietly allow myself to be herded from the house to a waiting vehicle separate from Sam’s parents, knowing it wouldn’t be wise to fight at this point in time. I can feel my emotions burn with disbelief and anger, but I have enough awareness to hide my weapons. When they’re not paying attention, I shift my shirt to cover the gun sticking in the back of my jeans. I stealthily pat my jean pockets to check if the knife is still safely tucked away. It is.

These idiots don’t even pat me down for concealed weapons. I guess they don’t expect goody two-shoes Sam Witwicky to be carrying. I don’t give them a reason to, either.

Though quiet and behaved, my eyes are alight with fury and promises of extreme disobedience. _Patience,_ I have to remind myself, _all good things in time._

As expected, the Autobots are not to be seen, which I’m… somewhat grateful for. The last thing I want is for any of them to be captured. I wonder anxiously if they’ll even bother rescuing me, considering I’ve already told them where to go for the cube. In the vehicle the Sector Seven agents are transporting me in, I hang my head and just stare at my feet while the car takes me far away from the place I called “the base” for a year.

My anger doesn’t dull, but it’s overtaken by the overbearing weight of despair. It’s like lead in my veins, bringing my shoulders down along with any hopes I may have had.

I’m alone. I don’t have Bee or my— _Sam’s_ parents. _Perhaps this is for the best,_ I think numbly, _Bee won’t be captured and tortured._

The Autobots never rescue me.

As I’m pushed into a helicopter, my eyes water and I struggle to contain the betrayal running rampant in my mind. _It’s not their fault,_ the voice of reason reminds me, _they’re just doing what they think is best._ Gritting my teeth and blinking away the tears, I recall what I remember seeing of Bumblebee in Hoover Dam. Though it hurts that they aren’t going to rescue me, one piece of good has happened, which means things can still change. The script can be deviated from. This should bring me hope.

Weirdly enough, I don’t feel very optimistic.

==

_Stop! He isn’t fighting back! Stop!_

_I bought a car. It turned out to be an alien robot._

**You changed something. Your choices matter.**

_When have you ever had to sacrifice anything in your perfect little life?_

**They’re just doing what they need to do.**

_No sacrifice, no victory._

_I will sacrifice myself to destroy it._

_Sam, no!_

==

By the time we reach Hoover Dam, my state of mind is mostly stable again and I’ve got a set of plans in my head. I just need the opportunity to do any of it. I’m neither a soldier nor a saboteur. I doubt I can do any of this on my own—but I need to _try_.

I pinch my hands that are beginning to shake, desperately using pain to gain some peace of mind.

One of my goals is to get to the cube. I need to at least try to get the cube to shrink down before the Decepticons start popping generators to free Megatron. I can’t rely on Bee being there this time. The Autobots will eventually catch up and do whatever they need to enter the dam. But it’s possible the two opposing sides may notice and start fighting each other.

If that’s the case, I may be the only remaining person with the opportunity to evacuate with the All-Spark.

But will the All-Spark listen to me? I’ve never seen a human successfully interact with the cube like that before. I only know that Sector Seven has been funneling radiation from it for a while now. That’s pretty different from what I’m praying to do with it.

Another goal is to somehow evacuate Mission City so that the amount of damage and loss of life is lessened. This depends on whether the people in charge will listen to a crazy female teenager. I need to establish with them that I know things and that they should listen to me… without being locked away in a white room to be interrogated.

The handcuffs come off while I’m outside the dam, and I cut off Simmons before he can even start.

“Listen. I know what you do here and I know the aliens rather intimately. If you want to survive what’s coming, you’ll need me and my knowledge. In return, I want some time alone with the cube.”

“A cube?” Simmons asks, eyes darting tellingly across my face.

I cross my arms and stand my ground. “Why don’t you bring me to that nice group of soldiers you’ve got waiting inside first.”

Simmons frowns, “How do you know about their arrival? They just arrived here, separate from you.”

“I know everything,” I state matter-of-fact, “but I think we can both agree that outside in the open is not a safe place for this conversation.”

“Follow me,” he simply replies.

==

The song and dance of the soldiers, Maggie, Glen, and the Secretary of Defense John Keller being introduced to Megatron unfolds much like I remember it going. The only difference is my specific reaction to it.

“You may call him NBE-1, but his actual name is Megatron. He’s the leader of a faction on his planet called the Decepticons, and they don’t have good intentions for Earth.”

Simmons gives me a look and prattles on about Megatron being the source of modern technology on this planet. I scoff, fully aware that humankind probably would’ve managed without the study of a frozen alien’s hardware. Why does that sound dirty somehow? Anyway, we managed fine in my own world.

“Why are they here on Earth?” Lennox asks.

I let my eyes wander from Lennox, to the Secretary of Defense, to Simmons as I explain. My voice is low and serious as I try to convey that I mean business.

“They’re here for The All-Spark—it looks like a giant cube. It’s the source of all life on their planet, a supposed gift from their god. Their planet was in the middle of a civil war, and the Autobots—our friendlies—shot the cube into space to keep it out of Decepticon hands. It happened to land on Earth, and so both factions followed it here… Including robot Hitler, aka Megatron.”

After absorbing this information, Keller is obviously displeased as he asks why they’re keeping a hostile alien frozen in their basement.

“Before, we had no credible threat to national security.”

“Well, you’ve got one now!”

I cough, and interrupt loudly, “Listen, the Decepticons are on their way, and they can easily free Megatron here… who you, in all your wisdom, decided to keep _right next to the All-Spark._ I need you to bring me to the cube _now_.”

“Follow me, we’ll talk about the cube,” Tom Banachek says, leading us to a room overlooking a giant cube a fair distance away.

I force myself to take calming breaths as they prattle on about the cube’s discovery and the original Seven. I’m already tired of my warnings being ignored. Eventually, they bring us to an enclosed room that I recognize as the room wherein they brought technology to life with the cube’s radiation. A cold weight settles in my stomach.

 _Please, don’t let them bring anything to life just to kill it_ , I think morosely with strong desperation toward the cube that I know is nearby. I always hated this part of the movie, regardless of how violent the little cellphone became. I like to think most fans did too. It doesn’t feel right.

When they throw the Nokia into the box, I tense as I pray to the cube with all my might. _Please, please, please…_

An invisible wave of _something_ interrupts my prayers, and I’m filled suddenly with _peace, hope, and acceptance_.

So taken-aback by these feelings that don’t feel like my own, I miss Simmons pressing a button to activate the machine. A bright and loud zap takes place in the center of the room. The cellphone in the glass container unfolds into a tiny bipedal robot with distinctly blue optics. I stare in shock, eyes riveted to the little one’s quivering frame. _That’s off-script_ , I think numbly. I watch as the oh-so-small ‘bot reveals a couple small blasters that they begin to use to attempt to break out.

“What the hell is that?”

Simmons and the others in the room don’t seem to realize that the former cellphone is acting out because they’re scared. I break my gaze away to see Simmon’s hand hovering over a button.

“No!” I scream, grabbing Simmon’s hand and prying his fingers off the control.

A brief struggle happens in which Simmons drops the control device to the lethal weapon in his hands and falls to the ground. I manage to pry the hatch open quickly, reaching in with an open hand toward the scared ‘bot.

“Please, little one, please, trust me. Come on, darling, I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Please,” I beg quietly to it.

“Hey! Get your hands out of there—close that! You’re endangering everyone in this room!”

I ignore him, and continue to plead to them. Something clicks between the two of us, and the little one scrambles into my arms. I quickly enfold them in my arms protectively and back into a corner so no one can sneak behind me.

“That’s Sector Seven property! I demand you release it right now!” Simmons angrily yells as agents pull out their guns on me.

I’m too furious to feel the fear in that moment, though I subconsciously recognize the danger we’re in and start trembling unwillingly.

I bite back in a cold tone, “You were about to _kill him_.”

“He was going to break the box!”

“He was _scared._ He’s a _baby_ and you were going to _kill him!_ ” I seethe in reply.

“Wait, wait, that thing with the cannon is a baby?” One of the soldiers ask, and I sweep my gaze over them warily.

“Yes.”

Refusing to budge, the agents and I reach a stalement that is only broken by a small rumble that shakes every one and thing in the room.

The Secretary of Defense grimly states, “Gentlemen, they know the cube is here.”

“Do you have an arms room?” I hear someone call out.

We all shuffle out of the room to another room filled with all sorts of guns. I eye everything warily, wondering whether I should pick something up.

“Sabot rounds affect Cybertronians more than anything else. Stock up on those,” I advise the soldiers.

I receive curious looks, and I try to smile reassuringly.

“Trust me,” I say quietly.

Lennox gives me a weird look and talks to me as he preps.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Samantha.” _Apparently._

“You can’t be older than 16,” he comments with a frown, “How’d you get caught up in all this? There has to be a reason other than your granddad finding the robot.”

I sigh, sounding tired as I explain, “My great-great-granddad had a pair of glasses with the coordinates of the cube etched into it. The aliens found me through a website I created documenting his things. Some of the Visitors were friendly… others, not so much. What’s your name?”

I already know his name, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“Colonel William Lennox,” he introduces himself without turning away from his task. He introduces me to his team, and I return their politeness with a small but genuine smile. I’d already known Epps and Lennox, but now I knew the names of the others.

Knowing our time is limited, I pet my little one’s head before I move out from my spot in the corner of this room.

“Take me to the cube. You _need_ to take me to the cube,” I demand tersely.

“Kid, I don’t know if you know this, but I can’t let you go gallivanting off in this facility doing god knows what to alien objects you don’t understand.”

“Maybe you don’t understand, but I do. We need to move this cube before _Megatron_ is broken out of stasis. If you don’t let me do this, we’re _fucked!_ _Megatron_ is going to use the cube to turn _all manner of machines_ into his personal army of _killer robots!_ ” I shout at Simmons, my baby ‘bot clicking angrily along with me.

The soldiers in the room seem to get a handle on what’s going on and in a flash guns are brought out, pointing every which way. I gulp in nervousness before glaring determinedly at Simmons, who has a gun in his face.

“Bring her to the cube!” Lennox grinds out.

“Soldier, the fate of the world is at stake, and you’re threatening me?”

The soldiers are insistent, however. Eventually, things play out in my favour.

Standing under the cube, I realize immediately that I’m too short to reach it.

“Shit,” I curse.

“What’s wrong now?” Simmons grumbles, “Baby can’t follow through now that she gets her way?”

“I need a ladder or something. I’m too short.”

Sector Seven workers bring a fork lift, and with the kind of ease born of being lifted by my friendly yellow Autobot, I balance easily on it until I’m close enough to touch the corner of the cube. With mounting nervousness, I think to myself: _It’s now or never. Please, please work._

Nothing happens at first. Then, a tiny metal hand rests on my arm, mimicking my actions. Smiling briefly down at the baby ‘bot, I kiss their head before turning back to the cube.

Closing my eyes, I focus on my will to carry the cube to safety. I recall the images of it folding and shrinking in on itself until it can easily be carried—defying the law of conservation of mass. I _plead_ with it to allow me the honour.

It’s a tense few seconds before I hear someone cry out below me. My eyes snap open to the cube. The first thing I notice is the sound of metal clicking as if being moved against itself. It’s then that I see it actually performing the action I hoped for. Relief floods through me, and I smile watery-eyed.

“Oh thank Primus,” I whisper.

I get strong feelings of _amusement, patience_ , and again _acceptance_ that I recognize as not being my own. Shuffling my baby—who I don’t trust with anyone else—as well as the cube in my arms is a little tough, but I manage. With a shout to the forklift driver, I’m lowered to the ground. I hop down before it even touches the ground.

“The Autobots should be here soon, they’re friendly and will help us fight off the Decepticons,” I explain, “What we need to do right now is secure a ride out of here.”

“We can hide the cube in Mission City. But we can’t make a stand without the air force.”

There’s talk then about how to communicate with the military for support, and before I know it the entire group is split in two. Amidst spreading sparks and fire, Keller, Simmons, Maggie, and Glen head off somewhere, and the rest of us run along to what looks like a large garage. It doesn’t hit me until later that I forgot to remind them to evacuate Mission City.

A loud creak sounds out, alarming everyone. Guns are pointed to the large, heavy door leading out of the dam. I turn my body so that the cube and my baby aren’t as visible.

“Shit. Something’s trying to get in!”

Before we can react, a chunk of the door is blown open, sending shrapnel and slag everywhere. In the opening, I spot a familiar set of orange-blue cannons. For an odd moment, I feel relief at seeing those.

“Wait! They’re friendly!” I run in front of the soldiers, repeatedly telling them to hold their fire. “Ironhide! It’s me, Sam!”

“Samantha,” he acknowledges, then warns, “Stand back, we’re opening the door.”

At that, I hurry backwards along with everyone else. A little more carefully, the door is torn open enough for man and machine to walk through. In walks the familiar Autobots that I love.

A spark of pain reminds me of the perceived betrayal— _they didn’t rescue me, they didn’t bother, they didn’t care…_ But I stamp it down. There are more important matters right now.

I ignore the other Autobots as I run up to Bumblebee. Cautiously, the soldiers behind me follow at a slower pace.

“Bee, I retrieved the All-Spark, but Megatron’s here and he’s _pissed,_ ” I ramble to him, seeking comfort from his presence, “We—we need to get out of here. The soldiers want to hide it in Mission City.”

The big, yellow Autobot gives a patient whirr as his servo reaches down carefully to stroke my back. Hazel eyes meet blue optics, and for a second my anxiety fades. The pain niggling in the back of my mind subsides.

_“Good job… Champ… I missed you, darling.”_

A small chirping comes from my arms, and my baby ‘bot struggles. “Woah, careful,” I chastise, as the baby climbs to my shoulder instead. He grabs my hair to hold onto. With a wince, I tolerate it. This gives me both arms to secure the cube with. With a pet to their tiny helm, I hug the cube to my chest.

The ‘bots around me are shocked. Bumblebee lets out a surprised whistle.

“Is that—” Ratchet says in shock, before cutting himself off.

“A sparkling. But I am afraid we don’t have time for stories. We must evacuate,” comes a rumbling voice from behind them that I recognize as the commander of the Autobots.

Bumblebee steps a little away from me before transforming into his vehicle mode, followed by the others. Bee’s driver door pops open, and I quickly enter.

==

All this running and drama has made me a little tired, but I don’t dare close my eyes. I pet the tiny helm of my little one beside me, trying to use this time to plan where to bring the baby so that they’ll be safe, because around me and the All-Spark isn’t the greatest place to be right now.

The procession toward Mission City is as tightly crowded as we can make it. Our number diminishes by one when Optimus tackles a Decepticon off the road—Bonecrusher, if I’m not mistaken. I feel a pang of loss at the lives taken in the Decepticon’s mad dash toward us.

I hug the cube, praying things will be alright.

_Peace-Safety-Acceptance_

Chirrup? I hear through the haze that’s taken over my mind. I blink my unfocused eyes, slowly coming into focus on my little one.

“Sorry, baby,” I coo, “Mama’s just… distracted.”

They burrow into my side, and I lift my arm to give them better access, resting my arm over them. _Precious_ , I think adoringly.

“Bee?” I ask hesitantly.

_“What’s up, little mama?”_

I explain, “We’re about to enter a war zone, and I have this sparkling to take care of. I’ve been thinking but I can’t figure out how to keep them safe.”

There’s a second of pause before I hear anything.

Over Bee’s radio, I hear Ratchet’s voice, “My sparkling hold is filled with materials for repair. It wouldn’t be safe for their fragile protoform. Ironhide?”

Ironhide’s voice comes in grumpy but rueful, “Mine is full as well, but with weapon parts.”

“I don’t have a hold anymore,” Jazz pipes up.

Ironhide ‘volunteers’ the scout, saying, “Bumblebee, you’ll have to carry them.”

A series of clicks and whistles announces exactly what the ‘Camaro’ thinks about that.

I reach out and stroke Bee’s dash, pleading with him, “Please, Bee?”

Both baby ‘bot and I drop an inch lower as Bee’s form sinks on his axels in resignation. Though I’m unsure why Bee seems reluctant to carry the sparkling, I’m very glad he will. I smile radiantly at the radio. Everyone can hear the sunshine and gratitude in my voice.

“Thank you, Bumblebee!”

“… whipped,” Ironhide comments slyly.

Indignant whistles from Bee make for a creative ‘fuck you’. My baby repeats it.

 _Oh boy,_ I think in amusement, _if that wasn’t so funny…_

==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist saving the Nokia 'bot. It doesn't look like it does in the movies, sadly, but that's because I have a plan for the character's eventual growth.


	5. Warzone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sam" runs through the Mission City battle.

I _told_ them to expect Starscream first, but… it seems to be a recurring theme here, I’m telling people things and no one is heeding the advice or warnings until it’s too late. I’m beginning to lose hope in being able to change _anything_. All those little deviations, all those comforting feelings I’ve been receiving from the cube, does all of that not mean anything? Am I imagining it?

Hell, my very presence here should mean something!

I’ve been reviewing my options on how to help Jazz for so long, even before this whole mess began, but now I’m sure that anything I have to say will be ignored. If I say something to Jazz, he’s likely to do the same thing anyway. I could try distracting Megatron, but that might end in my death—in the unlikely event that I hit the Decepticon leader. As it stands, unless something favourable happens, there’s not much I can do to change the deaths I really want to avoid.

I’ve already failed to evacuate Mission City.

“It’s Starscream!” I predictably hear Ironhide yell, and I resist the urge to cry in frustration.

All those thoughts fly out of my mind in the few precious seconds before the blast. I notice Ironhide alone is attempting to prop up a truck trailer to stave off the blast, and that makes me frown. _Wait, something’s different,_ I think before realizing why that is… as I’m swept off my feet by a servo and held against a metal-alloy chest.

My vision is taken over by the colour yellow and the instant before the blast, I’m desperately distracted. I know I’m in danger, there’s just… I feel the hum of something so _wonderful_ near my head, and it’s so sudden that I’m taken off-guard even with the threat to my life. I can hear soldiers yelling nearby, but I’m more preoccupied by how the beat of my heart is speeding up as if to match the beautiful pulsing thing I can’t identify…

Then the blast hits, and all remaining cognitive ability is suspended. In the chaos, I drop the cube. My saviour extends his free arm as he tries to spare me from being crushed underneath his own weight. There’s the groan of pistons and gears pushing and grinding as they work against the shockwave. I am protected with naught but ugly bruises to deal with later on.

There’s a ringing in my ears that takes a while to clear up, even as my world shifts and I’m staring up at the sky. My eyes are watery from the smoke and airborn dirt. I sit up and look around, my eyes locking onto my saviour.

“ _Bee,_ ” I rasp, holding back a cough as I ask, _“Are you okay?”_

 _“I should be asking you that,”_ he retorts using his radio.

I’m carefully lowered to the ground, and I take to my feet again with a wobble. Remembering the cube, I search the area around us anxiously. Spotting it, I run to it with a bit of a stumble. I bring it with me as I walk back to Bee.

Shaking my head, I check on everyone.

_Bee, with his legs, good._

_Jazz, fine._

_Ratchet, ok._

_Ironhide… Ironhide?_

A pit forms in my stomach when I don’t see Ironhide.

I clench the cube hard, praying I didn’t mess up again. _I’m so, so stupid,_ I think harshly to myself. Why didn’t I see this coming? With Bee holding the sparkling, of course he wouldn’t be helping Ironhide hastily throw up a barrier near the centre of the blast.

Have I saved one life, only to sacrifice another?

It takes a few tense minutes, but we eventually find him.

And oh, my god.

My shoulders sag with relief.

It turns out Ironhide was blasted farther than anticipated. Being closer to the blast directly behind the barrier meant a lot more force was applied to him, and he ended up half-buried in slag out of my sight. His name was called out a few times until a pained groan emitted from a pile of scrap and charred Furby (what the truck was transporting). When he gets up bleeding but mostly intact, I let out an audible sigh. I’m relieved. Ecstatic, even.

 _This is a better outcome than anticipated,_ I dare to think, hoping not to jinx it.

Yes, I can work with this. I can feel my anxiety pairing up with fledgling hope for a better outcome of this whole mess. I watch Ratchet begin to patch up the ruptured lines, wondering if he really came out of that blast perfectly fine. It’s just too good to be true.

I’m reminded of the horrors of war as a tank comes rolling down the street.

==

“Listen, I can’t leave my guys back there. Take this flare,” he explains as he hands me a flare.

I already know what he wants to tell me, so I don’t bother wasting his time.

“Bring the cube to the building with the statues. Back there, right?”

“… I’m not going to ask how you know that. Stay safe Sam, alright?”

“Back at you, Mr. Lennox.”

“It’s Lennox. None of that Mister stuff.” He then grabs the gun he’d set down and runs off before I can reply.

I look up at Bee, grasping the cube tightly to my body, which is still radiating _calm_ and _acceptance_. I want to say something, to ask for reassurance from the yellow ‘bot, but the words escape me. Besides, there won’t be an honest answer. This is war. Nothing is certain except death.

“Samantha,” I hear Ironhide rumble as he leans indicatively toward me and the cube, “We will protect you. Go quickly.”

My eyes water as I think suddenly of all the ways this can go wrong. I don’t have stamina. I don’t have courage. I don’t want to make _sacrifices_. _Shit_ , I think as I hastily wipe my eyes. I then take off running, blinking the remaining tears out of my eyes.

 _Shit, shit, shit._ I chant in my head, holding in the hysterical crying that threatens to hold me back from my goal. Ironhide jumps over me with a shot to cover me, only to be blasted into a building in return. I flinch, but keep running.

Unexpectedly, a servo sweeps me off my feet. I look up in shock at Bumblebee, who seems focused on running to the building in the distance. His strides are long and he dodges fire and humans underfoot with an enviable grace.

“Bee…” I warble, then bite my lip to stop myself.

 _Stupid. Of course he’s helping me; I’m slow._ I wipe the tears from my eyes.

_“Everything will be alright.”_

I can barely hear it over the din, but despite everything going on, I feel reassurance from that. It’s enough to put some of my thoughts and emotions into order. I feel my stuttering breaths lessen, though they don’t completely go away.

==

I remember something halfway to the building. Over the din of the chaos, I shout up at my yellow friendly giant.

“Listen, Bee! When I enter the building, Jazz will attempt to take on Megatron alone! If nothing interrupts them, he’s going to die!”

Bumblebee whirrs uncertainly.

“I don’t care how it happens. They must be interrupted. I’ll stick my head out a window with my gun if I need to!” _And damn if that isn’t the most American thing I’ve said yet._

His radio cracks with an older man’s voice drawling, _“Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”_

I take that as a yes, he’ll do something about it. I don’t exactly relax, but I feel as if a weight has lifted, as if the burden is being shared. I spend a good few seconds just staring at the ‘bot I’ve come to call a friend, a feeling of fondness swelling up in me. _Bee,_ I think as I curl around the cube. As if triggered by my suddenly happy feelings, the cube lets off a large zap that transforms a nearby car into a sentient robot. Wide-eyed, I watch as the newly sparked transformer brings out a blaster and starts firing on the Decepticons.

“Sorry,” I say weakly. It’s a reflex at this point.

Bee makes a falling tone, which I interpret as a mixture of maybe disbelief and resignation. I uncurl from the cube and hold it carefully but not too tightly. I also leash my feelings and focus on the building coming up soon.

Separating from Bee is hard, but I willingly do so.

“Keep yourself and my baby safe,” I tell him sternly, “Megatron and Optimus will probably be here soon, and the last thing I want on my conscience is both your deaths.”

With a very sad look in his optics, and a low croon, he reluctantly moves away. Steeling myself, I turn and enter the building.

==

 _Stairs_ , I think miserably. My legs and lungs are heaving. Every step is like a lead weight I’m struggling to lift to the next step. I’ve already lost track of how many stories I’ve gone. It could’ve been a couple or a hundred. Who knows.

Until this moment however, I surprisingly hadn’t noticed Megatron. The building suddenly shakes—my mind immediately thinks of the big and nasty robot with sharp edges and claws. I groan and attempt to move my body faster. It only goes marginally so. I was not made for physical activity, _Samantha’s_ body or not.

I regret not working out more during the year.

 _Regret later, climb now,_ I think as I attempt to focus single-mindedly on the task at hand. It takes a while, but I eventually get to the rooftop. Lighting the flare, I signal the chopper. I figure if I haven’t seen or heard Megatron yet, I’m fairly safe.

The chopper quickly descends to be level with me, and with some hesitance, I lift the cube toward them—only to spy something on a rooftop far away and below.

“Wait—move, move, move!!” I desperately yell, only to have to throw myself backwards to escape being diced by a helicopter blade as the chopper takes a hit. I take a tumble with the cube as the chopper hits the building and explodes, taking the lives in it.

It takes me a few seconds to recover and get to my feet. _Shit, I’m stupid. I shouldn’t have lit the flare. Stupid, what’s the point of knowing the future if you don’t try to change things?_ Trying to overcome the heavy feeling weighing me down suddenly, I think carefully on what to do next.

I spin around, looking for something to jog my memory. I vaguely remember Megatron crashing through the…

Crash!

Said ‘con tears through part of the building’s roof with a loud roar, settling heavily way too close to me. Despite expecting it, I still let out a scream. Red eyes framed in sharp, silver edges looms ever closer, forcing me to backpeddle quickly.

“Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?” His gravelly voice rumbles.

I do what Sam did and start to climb around the statue farthest from the Decepticon leader. My hands are a little sweaty, so I have to grip the edges extra tight, not wanting to fall until I absolutely had to.

“Give me the cube, girl, and you may live to be my pet.”

My mouth babbles without my consent, “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.”

“Ah, Prime’s old adage. So be it. Then _die_.”

He swings a claw for the statue and in a brief moment I think ‘this is it, this is the end’. I force myself to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done—I let go. My breath is stolen, along with any security I may have had, as I fall backwards. The feel of gravity pulling my body down and the control-less flailing of my limbs compounds my fear with nausea. I wish in vain for something to slow my descent, but every microsecond is recorded in my grey matter and adds to the grim thought that _maybe nothing’s going to catch me._

People and movies always tell you that you see your life flash before your eyes before you die. In this moment, however, all I can think about is death, regrets, and... blue optics. I regret that I’ll never get to see the baby and Bumblebee again, or get to know them better. Mere days brought to a violent end, splattered and broken on the pavement below.

But then, those thoughts come to an end as an opposing force slams into me, stopping my momentum. Any air that might have been in my lungs escapes like a compressed accordian, in a loud wheeze.

“I got you, Sam,” Optimus’ rumbling bass passes through my dazed mind like wind through a grate, “Hold onto the cube!”

 _I’m alive,_ I realize belatedly.

Optimus quickly slides down, switching between buildings to slow his descent. Something collides with him when we’re a couple stories above ground. With loud shouts, we all free-fall through the air. I can feel the big ‘bot twisting and cradling me as we fall… and then we land with a fiery boom.

My saviour is remarkably okay, or at least I believe so. He uncurls his hand and I stand up quickly, wincing at the pain radiating from my chest. It must have been the shock, and I did have the cube jabbed into it for so long.

He props himself up slightly and I wobble as I attempt to steady myself. Hazel eyes meet bright sky blue, and it’s obvious then that he wants to say something.

“Sam, you risked yourself to protect the cube.”

_Oh, no._

“I did what I needed to do.”

_I remember this._

“If I cannot defeat Megatron,” he says as I mentally beg him not to continue, “You must push the cube into my chest. **I** will do what I **need** to do… destroy it.”

I grit my teeth and think about the Autobots, directionless and scattered across the stars. I think about the ones stranded here on Earth, effectively refugees as they attempt to find safe haven on an alien planet. To my knowledge, there wasn’t a ship coming to pick them up.

 _I’m not a Witwicky,_ I think morosely, _I’m not sure if I believe that sacrifices ensure victory._

What victory is there in the dooming of entire species? Is their future so far gone that they think it’s not worth fighting for? Or, was he doing this to protect us? I imagine Megatron will still strip the planet of resources and enslave the human race, cube or not.

Despite my troubled thoughts, I say nothing as I jump off the Autobot leader’s chestplate.

“Get behind me,” Optimus growls as he gets ready to brawl with…

 _We collided with Megatron_ , I realize with a start. _Shit, shit, shit._ I run off to hide, finding shelter behind some rubble. There’s piles of it everywhere, and at least here I’m close enough to more things so I can run to another hiding place if I need.

The two titans clash, and as they bump into things the sound of the crashes are like minor earthquakes. I don’t dare look, but I hear Megatron’s taunts clearly over the noise.

“You still fight for the weak—that is why you lose!”

 _Boom._ Someone gets thrown into a building. I pray it isn’t Optimus.

The next moments are chaos. Megatron tears through people and throws Optimus Prime with ease. I have to keep running to new hiding places as the fight makes its way down the street. Then, fire rains down from the sky. The only warning anyone gets is the sound of airplanes flying really close before the explosions start bursting across Megatron’s backplates. I run to adjust my hiding spot, only to catch Megatron’s attention.

“All-Spark! It must be mine!” He shouts with fanaticism as he’s forced to crawl toward me by the sheer focus of every blaster and weapon on him. Backing into a building wall, I pray to any force that will listen.

_Please, don’t let it end like this. They deserve so much more._

Optimus tackles Megatron out of the way, and the scuffle takes them into an intersection.

_Please, Primus, All-Spark, God, whoever. Let them have hope, a future._

I blink back tears as I run away from the fight, only to be thrown off my feet with a rumble. The sharp edges and claws of the Decepticon leader miss me by scant centimetres as Optimus—fallen nearby—trips him in a desperate attempt to keep Megatron from the cube.

“Sam! You must put the cube into my chest, now!” Optimus yells, propping himself up with an arm.

_No, don’t make me do this. Don’t let this happen._

_PEACE-ACCEPTANCE_.

Why is the All-Spark just accepting its fate? Why is it trying to calm me like this? I don’t want to be calm!

_PEACE-ACCEPTANCE-QUESTION._

In an instant, I understand. But, it’s not clear enough that I can put it into words. At most, I can say that I have an inkling of what the cube has been trying to tell me this whole time, sending me these feelings of peace and acceptance since the moment I laid eyes on it. It wasn’t trying to calm me down, necessarily.

It was asking me something.

Peace.

Acceptance. Accept what’s being offered.

And just now: Question. Will you?

 _Yes,_ I think fiercely.

 _Confidence,_ I receive in reply, _must-go._

“Sam! No!” I hear the Autobot call as, with the threadbare stitches of understanding, I lift the cube into Megatron’s chest.

Fire explodes across the big bad’s shoulders. A distorted scream pierces the air as Megatron staggers, not able to even claw at his chest with the sudden energy flooding into his spark chamber and seizing his limbs. A pulse of _something_ in my chest is rhythmically pulsing in time with my heartbeat, and I feel a sharp pain in my chest that radiates outwards. A scream is torn from my throat. My arms start to lose strength, and as soon as the cube disappears from my hands, I fall back. Luckily for me, Megatron falls back as well, missing me.

A sharp pain blooms across the back of my skull as I black out.

==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't too keen on posting this as I'm not 100% happy with it. I'm more happy to get this part over with...nI'm more interested in the other bits to come.
> 
> Anyway, I hope it wasn't too bad. See you next time!


	6. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sam" and company go to Hoover Dam to recuperate after Mission City.

Passing out is not the same as falling asleep. When you fall asleep, there’s a sense of dreaming and natural awakening. Blacking out can be temporary, but it’s very disorienting when you wake up. One moment your vision is going dark, and then—BAM! You’re awake again, but you don’t know what hour, day, or year it is.

So, on one hand, I don’t know where or when I am after awakening.

I’ve also never liked being vulnerable. Part of the reason behind that is my real mother. Mother wasn’t the kind of person to hug or cry. She was the type to teach important life lessons like covering up to avoid attracting unwanted attention, to keep your hand on your purse at all times, how to defend yourself… I was taught that vulnerability invites people to take advantage of you, and those kinds of people are everywhere.

After waking, my first realization is that my prone form is surrounded by men I don’t yet recognize.

Lastly, I remember being in a warzone and nearly being skewered by Megatron. The fact that I can’t hear weapons being fired or explosions raining down on us doesn’t register. The memory of Megatron staggering back in death throes doesn’t help logic away the sudden, immense fear I feel.

I wake in a panic, and everyone directly around me is forced to bear with my violent reaction.

“GET AWAY FROM ME! DON’T TOUCH ME! BEE!”

A voice shouts from somewhere in my peripheral, “Calm down! The battle’s over, you’re safe!”

However, my vision is hazy and unfocused in my panic. I don’t recognize at the moment that it’s Lennox, someone who I would tentatively trust in any other circumstance.

My voice strains as I scream unfiltered, “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME! BEE, HELP!”

“Hold her down! Listen, Sam, you need to calm down!”

My struggle increases tenfold as I feel my freedom being further restricted. My breathing is raggedly taking in oxygen but I feel like I’m drowning. I’m surrounded by strangers/threats. They’re too close. _They’re too close. They’re-_

 _“Bee,”_ I gasp with my failing breath.

A servo gently pushes away the person holding me down, and I scramble backwards into a familiar, sturdy servo. _Bee_ , I hope with all my might, not yet able to rationally assess my situation. The metal hand scoops me up against their chestplate in a protective hold that starts easing my fear. As I feel the gentle pulsing of that wonderful thing, the shaking in my limbs and my heartrate start to slow.

I take a few ragged breaths in.

The haze of panic lifts enough for me to realize that, yes, it is Bee that is holding me. Panic becomes replaced by relief… and shame. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Bee’s here, but I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want to obviously need someone so much. It goes against everything I was raised to be. I hide my face in his chestplate for a moment, gathering my strength.

“Thank you, Bee,” I say loud enough to be heard.

An unstaticky tenor's voice graces my ears, “Are you okay?”

My hands grip the edges of his armour as I reluctantly respond, “I will be.”

I pause, lifting my head. Something about that voice is odd.

Hesitantly, I add, “Was that just now your voice?”

A whirr sounds from his throat as he also hesitates a moment to reply, “Yes. Does it suit me?”

I’m a little confused over why my opinion on it is important, but I find it’s important to ease the yellow bug’s anxiety.

“It suits you,” I say as I finally look straight into his blue optics with a shy smile, “It sounds youthful but confident in who they are—the way I see you.”

His servo grips me slightly tighter.

After a moment, a portion of Bee’s armour ‘unlocks’ and out comes a tiny ‘bot with sparkling baby blues. My face lights up, and I open my arms to catch the little one jumping toward me. With a wide smile, I nuzzle my head against their tiny helm with affection.

“Aw, I missed you… I just realized I don’t know your name. Gosh, I feel like a prick.”

“Ratchet can tell us their name when he does a thorough check up of the sparkling,” Bee explains, and I take this to mean that new-sparks have designations already in their memory. Well, at least I won’t have to worry about naming them.

I hum in thought, and take a moment to look around. We’re still in the intersection, so I don’t think I was out for too long. Instead of asking what happened while I was out, I decide to focus on the future.

I ask Bee, “What happens now?”

“We are about to move out to Hoover Dam until the ‘mess’ is sorted out and we can secure better accomodations,” Bee explains.

A voice from below us interrupts, “At the dam we’ll have a moment to recuperate before the real talk happens.”

 _Lennox, I owe you an apology for earlier,_ I note to myself. I’m guessing that the one who told me to calm down was him, but I’m not sure. I don’t want to think about my panic yet.

“We need to report what happened, and there’ll be talk about what happens from there,” he finishes.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Samantha.”

My eyes focus on the soldier who spoke. They, Tom, don’t seem to realize how deep in it I already am, if the closeness of my person to some of the aliens is any indicator. I bite the inside of my cheek to curb my sarcasm.

“As a new single mother, it’s my job to worry,” I dryly say, “And judging by our country’s history with people who are different… Well. I’m skeptical.”

“You sound like you pay taxes and have a mortgage,” one of the soldiers beside Epps jokes—David, if I recall correctly.

I merely roll my eyes in response, not willing to divulge that I’m actually mentally older than I appear… because that will go down well.

Bee puts me down when it’s time to go, and I gingerly hobble with the baby to his waiting vehicle mode. With the adrenaline gone, all the aches and pains from being thrown about and peppered with debris have caught up to me. I’m pretty sure I’m just one big, walking bruise.

As we drive back to Hoover dam, I silently consider my options. Bee must be bothered by the silence, because he turns on his radio and seeks through different stations. Despite this, I just don’t feel like talking at the moment. Beside a couple comments on songs I like, I remain quiet.

I do notice during this trip that Jazz is alive. I feel a swell of relief, but I still can’t seem to smile after all that has happened.

==

What greets us at Hoover Dam is armed security and people with familiar hoses that I’m sure aren’t good for our alien friends. Bee urges me to exit his vehicle so he can transform, and before I can get my bearings—‘bots are transformed, and Lennox along with his team are trying to mediate between what I assume are S7 agents and 15 foot tall mechs. We’re quickly surrounded on all sides by the agents but the one spot with the open road back.

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s this? These guys fought to save us from the big bads, why are you pointing weapons at them as if they are the enemy?” Lennox says, waving his arms placatingly.

“Sir, can you step aside. We are taking custody of the aliens.”

There’s someone conspicuously missing from this, I notice. Simmons isn’t here. That’s a little strange, I think. Maybe he’s still with the Secretary of Defense, wherever they are?

“Miss,” one of the armed S7 security tries to grab my attention, “Miss Witwicky, can you step away from the aliens.”

I step closer to Bumblebee instinctively.

“Miss Witwicky, we can’t protect you from them if you don’t step away,” the same security agent urges.

I step even closer to Bumblebee, who lets out a low tone that sounds disappointed at the agents.

A man that seems like the commander raises his arm, signalling to his men to prepare. Mechanical devices connected to rolls of metal wire are pointed at the Autobots, who widen their stances in preparation for whatever the humans have planned.

Something in me flares angrily despite my fear.

“You will fucking _not,_ ” I shout imperiously, “What are you going to do, with all your generators popped? Shove them into your garage until you can experiment on them? Are you _stupid?_ ”

I stomp forward, waving my arm angrily toward the Autobots and saying, “Here, you have a chance to show the best of Humanity and welcome the first _conscious_ aliens to your planet, and you choose violence over diplomacy?”

Lennox steps between us, explaining to the gathered agents, “I was told over radio that the Secretary of Defence is here, that we would _all_ have a chance to meet and discuss what happened… what will happen. What you’re doing right now seems contrary to what I was told.”

“If that’s true,” I cut in, “Then what you are doing right now is in fact not endorsed by the Secretary of Defence. What we need right now are rooms to reside in, food, fuel, and rest. That doesn’t mean to cuff the aliens and throw them in cells until you can do god-knows-what to them.”

Optimus Prime speaks up for the first time in a while, and his voice is just the right timbre to cut through all noise and conversation going on, “We are not here to fight. We only wish to speak to your government about a future alliance that would protect your planet from further attempts from the Decepticons. Major Lennox has been in recent contact with your Secretary of Defence, and I was under the impression that we would find shelter here while we have these discussions.”

There is only silence after that, until the Autobot commander continues, “If we cannot achieve that here, we will leave. But the Decepticons _will_ be back, and I pray that you are prepared to face the consequences of that choice.”

After that, a combination of Lennox’s team and the Autobots manage to wrangle some cooperation out of the S7 agents. Though honestly, matters only get resolved when they manage to communicate with the Secretary about what was actually happening on the ground. Simmons enters the grounds looking red in the face with anger as he orders the man who I assume is the commander of these agents to stand down.

After that, our entire group is split by species except for my baby whom I refuse to be parted from. It’s hard to make even a retort when everyone else is going along with things. I’m whisked to a room with amenities and clothing in the same wing as Lennox’s team.

I have to admit though, I really need a shower… some new clothes… and by gods, I am hungry.

Agh.

==

Something’s not right, but I don’t know what I can do about it. The baby ‘bot is the only reason I’m staying relatively calm about this. The first hint that something wasn’t right was the security guarding the entrance to the hallway with my room. The next was Lennox coming to check up on me, and the comments he made while he was over.

“And none of these S7 as- _agents_ have bothered you in your stay here?” He asked seriously.

“No, not yet anyway. I did notice them guarding the wing tho. What’s up with that? Are we under arrest?”

Apparently it is “for our safety” but we both highly doubt it. After Lennox left, I thought on ways to contact the Autobots. It’s times like these that I wish I had Sam’s phone. I’m sure that ancient thing is buried in his room somewhere. It seems I don’t have any method of contacting the Autobots. If only I had an Autobot with me…

Wait. From my place in the middle of the room where I’ve been pacing anxiously, I turn and stare intensely at the bed, where a special little someone is chewing on the cord to the lamp that runs behind the bed along the wall. Realizing they’ve been noticed, they spit it out.

There’s silence for a moment, and then…

Chirrup? The little one cocks their head inquisitively.

==

“Nono, it’s like… I mean, it’s probably like talking, but from a distance. You used to be a phone, you know. I bet some of that is incorporated into your hardware from your alt form.”

A confused brr-bweep is my only reply. I remind myself, again, that no matter how intelligent they are, they are still just a baby compared to the giants I know already.

We’re sitting facing each other on the bed, being the most comfortable spot in the room. I’ve been trying for at least an hour to communicate an idea to a literal robotic infant, and it hasn’t gone well so far.

I know they can understand me sometimes as there seems to be the light of understanding in their optics when I talk to them. But I’ve never been a transformer, so I doubt I can accurately describe what it feels like to communicate with other transformers via non-verbal transmission.

A knock interrupts us. With a gesture to my baby to stay, I get up to address the one at my door.

The knock is insistent, and I hurry my pace up. Opening the door, I’m greeted by Lennox and Epps.

“Mister Lennox, Epps,” I say blinkingly, then noticing the grim looks on their faces, asking seriously, “What’s wrong?”

“Grab your kid, we’re getting you out of here.”

Flummoxed and alarmed, I hesitate before hurrying to grab my baby on the bed.

“You visited me not too long ago. What changed?” I huff as I struggle with juggling my baby and arming myself.

They sandwich me between them as they escort me down the hallway. I notice the conspicuous lack of guards as we approach the entrance to the hall. If I wasn’t concerned before, I am now.

Lennox’s voice is low and he doesn’t tear his eyes from our surroundings as he explains, “What happened is one of my guys claims to have heard chatter about you… and it wasn’t nice. We’ve got roughly 15 minutes to get you out of this place. Our best bet is to get you to your… robot friends-“

“Autobots,” I interject before flustering, “Sorry, go on…”

“… And they can get you out of the hands of the personnel here. We don’t yet have a method of transport, but they can hopefully keep you out of S7 hands until then. Keep in mind S7 still have your parents, so who knows what they’re telling them… Stay with the robots—don’t give me that look, I’m trying— _Autobots._ Stay with them if you can.”

With my baby’s little servo clutching the front of my shirt, I rub their helm as my brow furrows. I don’t have enough experience with… any of this. It makes me feel very emotionally exhausted, but for the little one at least, I am willing to push myself.

==

When the human-sized door to the hangar holding the Autobots opens, heads turn. It has been a few hours since everyone has settled in, and both agents and Autobots are waiting patiently for any sign of change or progress.

Sandwiched between the two soldiers that brought me here, we make a bee-line to the nearest Autobot. I have enough time to notice Ironhide before agents start approaching, armed with big guns I can’t name for the life of me. I hold my breath as Lennox pushes in front of me, holding his arm back to prevent me from moving into the agents’ line of sight. Eventually we’re forced to stop. Epps moves opposite Lennox, watching our backs with a ready stance.

One of the agents speaks tersely, “You can’t be here, I’m going to have to ask you to turn around and leave.”

Lennox moves his arms in a placating gesture. “Woah, we’re just here because of an emergency.”

The agents don’t lower their guns, but they don’t approach either. I shift anxiously, whispering to my baby to be ready.

“We need to see the rob- _Autobots_. An Autobot baby that was in the care of a human teenager has gotten ill.”

A discrete nudge to my baby and they’re wailing in a very human-like expression of distress. Their voice box wails in a human pitch as they fussily move in my arms. Following the act, I bounce them and coo as if to soften their cries.

My baby’s doing a good job. Even I’m convinced, and I’m the one that taught them to do that.

The agents turn their heads to talk to each other, but they don’t seem like they’re going to budge.

There’s a blur of silver and suddenly I’m staring at the pede of a familiar first lieutenant. My eyes widen in wonder. It’s still awe-inspiring being this close to the Autobot, and now that I’m not in a life-or-death instance, I have a chance to really appreciate the moment. Jazz kneels to be more eye-level with me.

A second too late I start thinking on how easy it is to tell that we’re lying. Shit. What if they give it away before I can explain? My stomach flips in sudden worry.

But then Jazz winks. It’s done so quickly that it would’ve been imperceptible if I hadn’t been looking at his face so closely. It throws me for a loop.

“Hmm. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure this is a case of 1A-337. Terrible stuff, poor sparkling. Hey Ratchet, can you confirm?”

At the mention of the mysterious medical condition, the atmosphere seems to shift somehow, though the agents don’t seem to realize it. In a few steps, Ratchet is beside Jazz and scanning the sparkling with a few audible (and probably unnecessary) hums.

“Yes. It’s quite unfortunate that they’re in this state, I’d like to keep the sparkling in my care for the foreseeable future.”

“If that’s the case, then you can hand over the child to the NBE and leave the premises. We can’t keep the area secure with people going in and out all the time.”

“Now, hey…” Lennox starts, wanting to save the plan before it can crash and burn.

He doesn’t need to give an excuse for me to stay, however, as my baby’s cries of distress are renewed with vigor. There’s a high pitched tone in this new wail, and there’s a slight grinding sound coming from them that really alarms me. Unlike their previous signs of distress, I don’t think this is completely fabricated.

“Of course, the human teenager will have to stay,” Ratchet cuts through the chatter, his voice heard over the wailing and wide space. He’s stern as he continues, “Seeing as the child will be greatly distressed if we separate the two. That wouldn’t be conducive to their recovery from 1A-337.”

“Well that settles it, little lady. You two are staying with us.” Jazz confirms before anyone can argue. He lowers his servo to the ground, and I smile openly with relief, recognizing the promise of protection for what it is.

“Wait a damn…” The agent from before argues as I step onto Jazz’ servo and sit down safely in the middle of his palm.

“You wouldn’t separate a mother and their kid, would you?” Epps asks rhetorically. “Look at them. Even when she had a gun pointed in her face, she didn’t give them up. Nothing short of death would separate her from that kid.”

“I have my orders…”

“I know you do. But what we’re saying is that this should be an exception. It’s an emergency, and the only ones that can help that kid from… 1-8-something disease… are others of their kind, and we can’t separate the kid from their mom,” Lennox says.

Epps nods and adds, “So you’ll have a teenager to keep an eye on, what’s the most that can happen?”

With the Autobots refusing to release me to the agents, and the soldiers refusing to help, things are tense but I don’t think that S7 have much of a choice at this point. I hear my baby’s wails lessen until they’re cutely hiccuping in a staticky-beeping kind of way.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” I whisper to my baby, planting a light kiss to their helm as I rock them gently, “You deserve much more than I can give you.”

Jazz watches us with a strange look on his face, but otherwise does or says nothing. He merely holds us securely, using the hand not holding me to conceal us from the other humans as he moves to a more protected location in the hangar. Notably, this is where Optimus Prime stands, watching the proceedings silently with a critical eye. I get the strange feeling, though I don’t know how, that there’s a silent conversation going on between the ‘bots. It’s almost like an inaudible buzz, a strange twinge of an almost-headache coming from my frontal lobe. If I wasn’t holding my baby so carefully I would rub my head.

“Samantha,” Optimus rumbles after Jazz lowers his free hand and I can see the big ‘bot, “Are you alright?”

I adjust my grip on my baby so that they’re sitting on my lap instead. My arms welcome the freedom from their precious burden. I flex my arms slowly before saying just loud enough so the ‘bots can hear, “I am now.”

They obviously are owed a more detailed explanation, but I stop. I look up at Jazz, who looks back at me questioningly. He doesn’t seem to want to let me go right now. That’s fine with me. I glance at Bumblebee who seems eager to grab my attention, almost bouncing in excitement. If the situation wasn’t so serious, I would smile. Instead, I sigh.

I explain in more detail, keeping my voice level with great weariness, “The two soldiers that brought me here were trying to protect me by bringing me to you. Apparently… they heard that Sector 7 was planning on kidnapping me. Considering I am the only human that managed to interact with the cube in such a way, I can only imagine what terrible things they want to do to me.”

Optimus’s sky blue optics glance over my shoulder at the soldiers now being escorted out of the hangar, irises focusing intently on them as if he’s memorizing them, and then he trains optics on me with seriousness. “We will do what we can to protect you, Samantha. It is what we owe you for your actions today.”

I don’t need to hear or see the genuineness in his countenance to believe that he’ll do his best. I can confidently say I know him. _This is a Prime, my Prime,_ I think with pride. That sentence is so solid and unhesitating that it takes me aback when I realize what I just thought. _Thank god_ I didn’t say that aloud.

“I just did what I needed to do,” I mumble, flushing a bit from my thoughts.

Sometimes my brain can be really embarrassing.

A light cough interrupts us, and I startle. I hadn’t noticed with how focused on Optimus I was, but Ratchet is standing nearby. I remember that my baby is supposed to be _sick_. Smoothing my hand over their little helm in worry, I lean forward as if to conspire with Ratchet.

“Ratchet, you said my baby has 1-8… 1-A…. Um, sorry, I can’t remember the name of the illness, but you said they’re unwell? I know they were trying to chew on the wire to the lamp in my room earlier, but I don’t think they digested anything and they seemed-“

Ratchet lifts a servo to stop my rant, then speaks quietly to me, “The illness was just a cover. We could tell you were in great distress.”

Jazz speaks up, making me jump a little as his smooth baritone voice hits me from above. (I’m a little on edge.) “1A-377 is one of the many codes we use to indicate a problem. From the way you and the soldiers were acting, it looked like you were afraid of the agents. So, I intervened.”

“Thank god,” I mumble, before saying in a fervent whisper, “We can’t trust S7! They have done terrible things in secret for so long… Not to mention, in another life, they would’ve taken Bumblebee hostage and tortured him!”

 _”Oh hell naw!”_ I hear a radio cry.

“After seeing that, I can’t trust anyone from that organization, no matter their intent.”

==

“Jazz?” I ask the ‘bot holding me.

The mentioned ‘bot answers back pleasantly, “Yeah? What’s crackin’, little lady?”

I shift awkwardly, looking up into his visor. I’m not sure why I’m feeling so shy all of a sudden. Maybe it’s because he’s just _so cool_ , and I’m so… not. “Thanks for the save.”

The ‘bot’s faceplates shift into a half-smile. “Back at you.”

“Huh?”

“Bumblebee relayed to me what you said back during the fighting. If it wasn’t for you, Megatron would have ripped me in two.”

“I- Well, I-” I stutter, trying to redirect his attention to what I thought was the one who deserved his actual praise, “But it- it was Bumblebee that helped you, right? I didn’t do anything.”

He raises me up level to his face, causing me to waver for a second. With his free hand, he retracts his visor. Suddenly I’m staring wide-eyed into the deep blue optics of the cool saboteur.

“And how would he have known to be there in the first place, huh? You need to have more confidence in yourself. You are deserving of respect and gratitude, whether you personally destroyed Megatron or not.”

Feeling embarrassed, but not refuting his words, I duck my head down toward my baby’s helm. I don’t want to say he’s wrong, but I really don’t feel I did much. Still, maybe it’s okay to just accept his gratitude this one instance.

“… Okay.”

“Good,” Jazz says smugly, snapping his visor back into place.

==

Keepin up the appearance of ‘medical care’ for the baby isn’t hard. In fact, it is easy to find other reasons to examine the child in my care.

I’ve found out a few things from Ratchet’s examination. One, the baby’s Energon stores were low. That was easily solved, but it took some time to ‘dilute’ and ‘clean’ some Energon for the sparkling or else we risked overloading and ‘poisoning’ their delicate system. (‘These’ are the closest words we could use to describe the actual processes.) The act of the baby chewing on the wire to the lamp was an instinctual need to feed. I felt bad hearing that, because I naturally don’t have the Energon needed to sustain them.

Two, they were abnormally small for their frame type. Bipedals of small sizes existed, but this baby was even smaller than what would be normal for a sparkling of a Minibot frame. It’s a wonder why the cube decided on that form instead of one like a spider or other multi-legged frame, which were more common for their size.

Three, they’re a femme. I’m not quite sure what differs between femmes and mechs. Maybe it’s a cultural thing. For safety’s sake, I decide to try not to assume their gender until they tell me what feels right.

Last but not least, their name is L-E as in LED, or “Ellie”. It’s a cute name for a cute ‘bot.

Oddly enough, even though I trust these ‘bots with my life, I can’t quite let the baby out of my sight. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before. It’s off-putting.

==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a rant. Just skip to the end.  
> ==  
> I kept rewriting this chapter! The beginning with the panic was something I wanted, but I didn't know how to write it. In the end I gave up and kept what you see there.
> 
> Then there was S7. Because Bee was never really tortured and the Autobots never really had to deal with S7, there was no tension between the two parties (Autobots vs S7). S7 still fucked up because they kept an alien dictator in their basement, but I wanted them to also be shown as aggressive. Wasn't sure if i succeeded or not. It was only after the bulk of the chapter was written that I realized I could've just chosen a military base and avoided the S7 encounter entirely. I mean, it wouldn't be as fun to write, but still.
> 
> Also. I can't come up with realistic Cybertronian sicknesses to save my life. I thought of 'Cyber-fever', 'Cyber-flu', etc but those sounded too generic to be codewords.  
> ==
> 
> Rant over. Anyway, thanks for all the positive reviews! I feel pumped to write more!


	7. Where we call home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a collection of snippets of Sam’s time with the Autobots at Hoover Dam. They’re not connected smoothly, but they’re linear. If there’s a major time skip, I’ll mention.

### Where we call home

Being back in Bee’s servos is like coming home, and for me, that’s really saying something. Choosing Bee over Sam’s actual home and family is weird, I’ll admit. I’ve spent a whole year at the house I used to call “the base” and haven’t once thought of it as my own home. Considering that, it’s hard to say for sure why I naturally drift to Bee of all ‘bots, but something about him _screams_ friendship-safety-comfort to me.

Until now, I haven’t dared call anyplace home, because even after all this time I still feel like an evil body-snatcher whose term in fate’s contract can just suddenly end. I feel so transient, like an autumn leaf clinging desperately to the branch. After everything that has happened, and all the things that I’ve done, it could all end any time now. I could easily be replaced, like how I’ve already replaced Sam Witwicky.

But with Bee, _I’m the one_ that met him, not Sam or whoever will be my replacement. Maybe it’s because there are no expectations on who I’m supposed to be or what I’m supposed to be doing, unlike the situation with Sam’s parents and friends. Just having this one thing in my life right now is such a relief that I can’t help but think of Bee as the centre of this new world I’m in. Oh god, he really is my centre, isn’t he? It’s kind of scary to put into words, but it’s true. Maybe I should—

Bee’s digit rubs my back gently, like he’s attuned to my mood and can sense my shift into anxiety. My anxiety seems to stall before petering out. I slouch in his hold, feeling more relaxed at the comfort given.

“Thanks, Bee.”

“It’ll be okay,” Bumblebee says to me, and that surprising voice (it’s so different from the movie) is riveting. I perk up whenever I hear him speak.

“I hope so,” I murmur.

His optics observe me for a second before his helm tilts in question. “What were you thinking about?”

I flush, feeling too embarrassed to admit what I was thinking about. I try coming up with some lie to say, but I easily give up as I know I’m a terrible liar. Instead, I do what I do best—be half truthful.

“I was thinking of home.”

“I’m sure you and your parents will be back home as soon as possible.”

“No, you don’t—that’s not—that place is not what I was thinking about,” I stumble artfully. Damn Witwicky genes.

A confused whirr is all I get in reply.

I explain haltingly, “The circumstances are… complicated. But basically, I haven’t been myself since I ‘woke’ up roughly a year ago. I know bits of the future, and I’m… well, you’d have to ask my parents about how my personality has changed, but I realize it has.”

I was already sitting in Bee’s palm, but I shift forward so that my legs dangle over the edge of his servo. I kick my legs back and forth as I think on how to phrase this.

“It’s hard to call the house I’ve—the house _Sam_ has lived in all their life—home. Because it’s not anymore. I realized earlier that the closest feeling I’ve had to ‘home’ is… whenever I’m around you. I’m not sure how I should feel, realizing that.”

The yellow ‘bot is silent for a bit, and feeling self-conscious, I stop kicking my feet to turn and look up at him with a tight feeling in my chest. Was what I said weird? Probably. _I wonder what he’s thinking about_ , I think anxiously as I look over him for any visual cues indicating discomfort. Finally, the ‘bot notices my stare and raises an arm to rub the back of his helm sheepishly.

“I’m not sure what to say. I can’t say I’ve ever been in that particular situation before. With the war consuming our homeworld, any chance to establish a ‘home’ was destroyed. But… home to me has always been with whoever I’ve felt I belonged most. Usually, that’s among Optimus Prime and my closest comrades. Following that vein, I don’t think it’s weird if you feel that kind of kinship with someone not related to you. I feel the same way, and I’m honoured you feel that way about me.”

My heart rate speeds up without my permission as I immediately interpret his last sentence as him feeling the same way about me… and then the idea grinds to a halt as I realize that’s not what he meant. He means that he feels ‘that kind of kinship’ with ‘bots not related to him—similar to what I feel about him. I feel myself burn with embarrassment, but I shake my head as if to shake the thought off.

I smile at Bumblebee, a little flushed from embarrassment but grateful for his kind words nonetheless.

“Thanks, Bee,” I say, smoothing a hand over a giant digit affectionately.

==

### Attention

I haven’t realized how attentive the ‘bots are until now. A single yawn escaping my maw has Bee, Optimus, and Jazz all perking up and raring to get me to sleep.

Bee and Jazz seem to quarrel silently over something until Bee smoothly transforms _with me still in his servo._ I don’t think words can do justice to how terrifying blades of metal moving all around you is. It takes me so off-guard that I don’t even scream. I just freeze until the metal all slides into place and I can shake myself out of it.

“Jesus, Bee! What if I got caught up in your innards or something!”

A sad noise escapes the not-Camaro.

“Just… maybe warn me at least,” I weakly say, caving to my favourite Autobot.

Jazz seems to almost sulk at the apparent loss of whatever the two ‘bots were fighting about. Still, I notice the silver lieutenant stays nearby for a while, at least until I fall asleep.

==

[Private Communication; Participants: Optimus Prime, Bumblebee]

\-- Optimus Prime: _I haven’t seen you this excited over something in a long while, friend. It’s good to see. I would have you not try that manoeuvre again with this particular human or her sparkling, however… I won’t lecture you on how dangerous it is._

\-- Bumblebee: _Sorry, Optimus. She’s just…_ [Audiovisual relay] _… And her reaction to Ironhide after our encounter with Barricade…_ [Audiovisual relay; laughter] _She’s too precious._

\-- Optimus Prime: [Laughter] _Seeing that now, your need to protect her makes sense. Just be mindful of your actions._

\-- Bumblebee: [Salute] _Of course, sir._

==

### Conversation with Ironhide

I feel safer with the Autobots than in the room I was in before, but I still find myself alert for any changes in behaviour from the S7 agents in the hangar with us. The agents keep staring at me and whispering into their earpieces… Or maybe I’m just looking too hard into things. Whatever. I don’t trust them.

My baby is within sight, being taught something by Ratchet. These burgeoning protective instincts seem to recognize Ratchet as some kind of Uncle/caregiver that I don’t need to keep a constant eye on. The only person these irrational instincts would trust with my baby (other than Ratchet) would be Bumblebee.

“So you’re armed. That’s good,” Ironhide suddenly comments, walking alongside my nervous pacing.

“Huh?” I stop, looking up at him and staring before realizing what he said. “Oh, yes. I’ve got a pistol and a knife. I know some hand-to-hand, too.”

“That’s good. From what little I’ve observed, self-defence does not seem to be a learning requirement among your people.”

“That’s technically true, but quite a few actually do learn, even if it’s not a requirement of their job. It depends on the climate of the area you live in, what you do for a living, and other factors. Some learn to fight just for sport or exercise, while some learn self-defence for some peace of mind… I won’t bore you with the legalities of different states and countries, but if you’re looking to carry—er, arm yourself as a human—it’s usually worth looking up.”

Ironhide grunts. There’s a second of silence before he asks, “And you? Why do you arm yourself?”

“Well, it was for some peace of mind, I guess. It won’t help me at all with Decepticons, but a little paranoia might help subvert problems with human aggressors. I’m also female, so there’s that…”

“What does one’s sex have to do with arming yourself?” He asks inquisitively.

“Look up sexual assault statistics for female and male,” I suggest, not really wanting to misquote, “I don’t really want to talk about it, but I’ve had unwanted sexual advances before.”

When his optics dim, I know he’s looking them up. I expect he’ll be responding again in a second, considering how long it took them to learn English. However, when one second becomes a few seconds, I begin to wonder if something’s wrong…

**_“Disgusting!”_ **

The loud response is filled with so much revulsion and horror, I can only imagine what the hell he read or saw that caused it. Heads and helms both seem to snap in our direction. I shift uncomfortably at the attention.

“You went down the rabbit-hole, didn’t you.”

“I did not go down the nesting hole of a primitive mammalian species.”

Since my baby is with Ratchet nearby, I have my hands free and ready to face-palm. I do so.

“I mean,” I explain with a level tone, “That you didn’t stay on the statistics page and instead read more into the subject, possibly reports from victims, interviews, and such. ‘Down the rabbit hole’ means you went too deep into a subject.”

“It isn’t too deep if I understand now the importance of teaching you how to fight properly.”

… I only blink at him vacantly for a moment. Then the meaning sinks in.

“Sorry, what?” I squeak, “But- but you’re huge! How the heck are you going to teach me?”

I wish I hadn’t asked. I spend the next hour debating and giving excuses as to why it’s a bad idea, but we somehow end up with a training schedule and volunteers for my exercises.

==

### Oh, the Indignity!

“I need to pee, shower and stuff,” I whisper to Bee shyly, yet knowing it needs to be done, “But I’m, uh, afraid of the S7 agents ambushing me.”

When Optimus walks our way, my spine straightens and I pretend I didn’t say anything.

“Hello, Optimus,” I greet, only slightly naturally.

“I’ve contacted Col. Lennox requesting he send someone to escort you to the facilities. They’ll meet you outside the hangar in ten minutes,” the big ‘bot says, during which I blush fiercely.

I resist the urge to cover my face. “Thanks?” Why was that a question? I don’t know! Optimus Prime doesn’t need to know that I need to pee and shower, thanks? Agh.

Instead of the conversation ending, he innocently says, “I apologize if I embarrassed you.”

“No, no! It’s fine! It can be an embarrassing topic, especially for ‘private’ people. I’m pretty private. I didn’t expect Bumblebee to contact you.”

“He didn’t contact me. I just happened to overhear and took the liberty of arranging it for you. Your safety is my priority.”

I mumble quietly, “Wow, that’s some great hearing.”

“Indeed,” he merely rumbles, with a hint of some emotion.

Is that amusement in his voice? That— _slagger?_ —is having a laugh at my embarrassment! I’m embarrassed and sulking like a child. Great, how do you even respond to that. What doesn’t help is Bee silently giggling beside me. I sulk harder.

==

### What do you even eat?

After eating a meal with the soldiers, it occurs to me to ask something I’ve been dying to know the answer to. It varies from series to series, so I’m not confident in what I already know. Do you consume/eat things, how often do you need to consume the thing, and how does it affect your mood?

Filled with energy, I bounce around the S7 agents and right into Bumblebee’s servos. With curiosity I ask my questions.

The sunny ‘bot hums before answering, “Without fighting, we require very little to function, but to stay well-maintained a ‘bot typically needs a little bit of oil, and plenty of Energon. It doesn’t really affect our mood unless we consume too much of either substance. In that case, it causes our systems to be overcharged or poisoned, which can make us seem happy or…”

“Drunk?” I query.

“Intoxicated. We can also spew oil or Energon if our systems can’t take any more.”

I ‘ooh’ in understanding, but have a new question.

“But you’re on Earth now. Where will you get your Energon?”

Bumblebee seems reluctant to answer, or maybe he doesn’t know. I shift uncomfortably, before interjecting, “Can Energon be found on planets in different forms? Like crystal? Maybe we’ve found some as a species and don’t know what to do with it.”

“It’s possible, but unlikely. It’s highly volatile and your methods of mining are insufficient. It’s more likely that we will harvest little bits of Energon over time from power plants to varying degrees of efficiency. It wouldn’t be enough to feed everyone, but it would supplement our own supplies.”

I nod. That makes sense. Though it’d be nice to have a more steady supply handy. Maybe I could do some research myself…

“Anyway, we have a considerable while before it becomes a real problem,” Bumblebee says.

I suspected this, but I also know for a fact that Energon is a precious resource that the Decepticons fought for against the combined forces of the Autobots and N.E.S.T. (specifically Lennox’s team). They were ready to remove an entire star from its system to fuel their conquest. It would’ve killed an entire planet. So, sometime in the future amongst the creation of the Non-biological Extraterrestrials Species Treaty and settling into life after war, I need to give them the basics of what happened during the second movie.

Maybe it’s a little early for this, but I flag Bee to bring me closer. _Closer_ , I gesture, until I’m practically in his face. I feel a bit embarrassed, but I mentally stomp down on the feeling as I focus on what’s important.

I cover my mouth from view with both hands as I whisper, “ _I need to tell you something important. It’s about the future. I don’t trust our surroundings now, so remind me later when it’s safe?_ ”

“Okay? Is it about what we were just talking about?”

“It’s about-” I stop myself, reminding myself to be careful about the phrasing. “ _Energon_ _._ I wouldn’t worry about it just yet, but it’s important that you know. You can tell your comrades, but I can’t tell you more with too many ears listening in.”

==

### Parents

Days later…

So used to S7 agents coming and going, I don’t realize that someone new has entered the room until it’s too late.

**“Samantha Jane Witwicky!”**

Everyone’s attention is drawn to the fiery woman stomping in the direction of the Autobot currently holding me, Bumblebee. Before I’ve even had a chance to get down, she’s brandishing the bag on her arm like a weapon. It’s a ridiculous sight, and if I was Sam I’d probably be panicking right now.

Alas.

“Let go of my daughter you oversized toaster or I’ll- I’ll-“

I lean over the side of the servo holding me, cringing at the sight below. Oh, god. It has started. To be honest, I’ve been anticipating the parents’ arrival ever since Lennox warned me. I’m also not that naïve. I know my rights as a child are limited. I’m not considered an adult until I’m 18, and Autobots don’t count as caregivers in the eyes of the law. Eventually I would have to be returned to Judy and Ron, and who knew what they have been told while we’ve been apart. I don’t _really_ want to deal with parents right now, but it still has to be done.

I need to calm Sam’s parents down and determine what S7 has been telling them. Hopefully, I can convince them that the Autobots are friendly and completely safe to be around. If not, maybe I can at least convince them that Sector 7 is bad news.

“Calm down, mom. Bee, can you slowly lower me? Thanks.”

When Bee’s servo is close to the ground, I hop off. I’m immediately smothered by Judy. She alternates between squeezing the life out of me and touching my face. Her hands actively smooth back the free-flowing strands of hair at the sides of my face and asking me very pointed and frankly insulting questions about the Autobots’ care of me. With some speculation on just how bad this might look from their perspective, I tolerate it silently for a bit, hoping to give her a moment of fussing before resting a hand firmly on Judy’s shoulder and making space between us.

“Stop. Stop, stop, stop. Okay,” I take a breath before saying with what I hope is a kind tone and smile, “I know you’re worried, mom, but if we’re going to have a civil conversation about what’s been happening, you need to give me some space.”

“At least give your old man a hug,” Ron complains from behind Judy. He walks up to us and I step from Judy toward Ron for a hug. It’s a firm but not smothering hold with a light pat on my head. This is more my kind of hug than the previous one. Still, I’m not too comfortable with hugs from them, so I mentally count to some random number before letting go.

Before they can start to ask about whatever happened to me during our separation, I ask them, “How have _they_ been treating you since we’ve been captured?” If there’s an obvious disdain in my otherwise friendly tone, I don’t care. It’ll only help get my point across later.

“We were kept in a white room with a metal table and chairs at first. They were _very rude_. I only got a glass of water before they started asking all these questions we don’t understand!” Judy exclaims, stuck between the frustration from recalling that event and lingering worry over our/my situation.

Ron picks up from where she left off, “They were interrogating us. It took hours before they finally seemed to realize we didn’t know what they were talking about. Then they brought us to a room with beds and a bathroom. I thought we were going to be there forever. It was hours until they finally got back to us-”

“Let me guess,” I interject, “They told you how I got myself into so much danger and that I was being held captive by aliens and bla bla bla give us your daughter for examination—you know, for my ‘ _safety’_.”

“Well, there was more to the conversation than that, right Ron?” Judy looks to Ron for support.

Ron’s face is carefully neutral, but his tone gives me hope that he can be convinced about S7, “They emphasized bringing you back to us from the aliens, but they did mention wanting to examine you. They wouldn’t explain why, but it didn’t sound like they would do anything invasive.”

I scoff, folding my arms and weighing in my head what to tell them. I was planning to tell them the ‘whole’ truth as the Autobots already know it. With the exception of obviously not telling them I’m from another world and a body-snatcher, I am a firm believer that lies only complicate things and communication is important to maintaining healthy relationships. The problem is that the topics at hand are scary to those not already prepared to hear about it. I was somewhat prepared for giant aliens and less-than-kind organizations like Sector 7 when I woke up in this world. Ron and Judy are relatively normal civilians however, if over-protective where their kid and their stuff are concerned. This conversation could go either way, honestly.

“Let’s get away from these…”

“ _Autobots,_ that’s what they’re called,” I interrupt firmly, “And I will go with you, but you need to know what’s been going on, first.”

There are some metal tables and chairs set up against the walls of the hangar, and I usher the two to them. They’re responding slower than I’d like, seeming resistant to my attempts to pacify them. It makes sense considering the giant robots obviously eavesdropping on our conversation, but their body language isn’t giving me much confidence in my ability to lead them to the ‘right’ conclusions.

“Sam, I’m worried. From what these people have been telling us, it sounds like your life has been in constant danger. And those- Autowhatsits. I can’t believe they would drag you into danger and keep you from us!”

I sigh. “ _Mom_. Dad. I’m not being held against my will. **I** sought **them** out. The bottom line is, it’s complicated. But let’s start from the beginning… Do you remember that morning I freaked out and didn’t recognize you for a few minutes? It was about a year ago, before I started my jobs.”

They both frown, thinking about it.

“Yes? Sam, where are you going with this?” Ron asks.

“The night before that, something happened to me that changed me. I woke up in the morning having _detailed_ knowledge of future events that hadn’t happened yet. Impossible, crazy things.” I rest my elbows on the table, lock my fingers together, and prop my head up over my joined hands. I look almost bored, but underneath the table my foot is quietly shaking to an incessant rhythm out of anxiety. It’s taking all I am to control my overt expressions to convey complete comfort in what I am saying.

Ron’s face shows skepticism. He slowly says, “You got a vision of the future.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I am not lying or making this up. I knew—no, I _know_ things, and pretty much all predictions I’ve made have come true.”

 _Almost_. Things have deviated in small ways, but the bulk of the plot from the first movie has happened.

“I know your great-grandma on my side also claimed to see things from the great beyond. Claimed she knew the future, but no one believed her,” Judy says, clearly trying to make connections to familiar things to help her process or validate what I’m saying.

“I don’t know if it’s the same…” I begin to say, but am interrupted by Sam’s dad.

“What, do you know this year’s lotto’s numbers?” Ron jokes in disbelief.

“My vision was pretty _focused_ on certain events, so unfortunately no,” I say with amusement, quirking a brief smile, “Otherwise, do you think I’d be buying a car from _Bobby Bolivia’s_?”

Ron barks an abrupt laugh that ends just as quickly as it came. There’s a moment of awkward silence, the atmosphere heavy. I continue the story.

“The vision of the future told me some crazy events were going to happen, and I needed to prepare. Now, do you remember great-great grandfather Archibald? How he went crazy talking about some metal man in the Arctic?”

I wait for the light of recognition to enter their eyes, before confirming, “Yes, that ‘metal man’ was an alien from the same planet these guys come from. Obviously, no one believed poor Archibald then. The important takeaway here is that during his encounter with the ‘metal man’, something happened to his glasses. They became engraved with coordinates to something pretty important to these aliens.”

Judy and Ron are wide-eyed but silent. From their expressions, I can tell they are beginning to piece together some things.

“Obviously, those glasses were inherited by you dad, and after I had my vision, I knew what I needed to do. These aliens would need those coordinates to find an important alien artifact. So, I advertised the glasses discretely through a website documenting Witwicky history.”

Ron, a step ahead of Judy, exclaims, “Why would you do that? If you _knew_ they would be **_dragging you into danger?_** ”

Judy looks alarmed, and puts two-and-two together, growing more angry as she does. “You _knew_ the future. You _knew_ it was dangerous and _wanted_ to be involved in it? Samantha Jane-“

I lift my head from my hands and gesture placatingly. “Hey, hey, don’t bring the full name out just yet! I’m not done.”

Judy seems ready to scold me still, but Ron rubs her back to console her, cajoling her to wait for my explanation.

“You better have a good reason to doing this, young lady,” he says to me.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I lace my fingers together and make every attempt to look calm and in control. I am the very definition of anxiety, but I like to think I am succeeding partially.

“There were lives at stake, mom, dad. Our world was in danger. What is that Witwicky motto?”

“No sacrifice, no victory.”

Ron and I mutter it in unison. I have a grim look on my face as I do so.

“You see, these aliens are in the midst of civil war. There are basically two sides currently, Autobots and Decepticons. The Decepticons have _no regard_ for human life. But the Autobots _do_. The Decepticons would have destroyed our planet looking for the important artifact. I wanted the friendly side, the **Autobots** , to find me first so that they could get to the artifact before the ‘bad guys’ could.”

“But it brought you into danger!” Judy looks ready to cry as she yells. “How do you think we feel, not knowing if you’re okay or dying in some street somewhere?! Did you think of us at all?”

I can’t help but look as guilty as I feel right now, but I clasp my hands tightly and frown determinedly.

“You’re my baby, Sam!”

“Mom… Mom.” I reach forward and hold out my hand for her to grab. It takes an awkward moment but she does so. I grasp it firmly, and force a smile. “I love you, but I’m not naïve. You have to realize the position I was in. _I needed_ the more favourable outcome to happen. Would _you_ be able to rest easy knowing that the fate of the world rested on a ratty pair of glasses and you just let neighbours and families die because you didn’t make any attempt to change things? How do you think that would make me feel? You raised me to be responsible and understand that sometimes, victory means making certain sacrifices. I weighed my options and chose to do something over nothing.”

On a lighter note, I add, “And before you say anything about these aliens dragging me into danger, also know that they’ve made _every attempt to make sure I’m safe and happy._ Hell, that cute yellow ‘bot watching us so intently covered me from a _missile_ strike. I can safely say I trust these guys with my life.”

A big hand covers our joined hands. I look at Ron, who looks watery-eyed but strangely proud. Judy lets out a sob and buries her face into Ron’s shoulder while I look on.

I smile at the two parents taking comfort in each other and our clasped hands. I’m equally watery-eyed at this point, but with guilt pooling in my stomach. It’s a gnawing, terrible feeling that I know will always be there as long as _I, not-Sam,_ have taken their kid’s place.

==

A few minutes later…

“Now, uh,” I awkwardly attempt to transition from earlier’s tears to _more_ serious conversation, _while_ being emotionally exhausted from explaining the story to them, “About Sector 7. There’s some pretty important things you need to know about them.”

I explain what they have been doing to the aliens, my vision of Bumblebee being tortured, and then mention what Lennox told me about them wanting to do something to me.

“What?!”

“Also, there’s this alien baby, and…”

**_“What?!”_ **

==


	8. 'Normal'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sam" struggles to find a new normal. Two people grow closer.

At first Judy and Ron both didn’t want me to continue visiting the Autobots during our stay at Hoover Dam, even after my poor attempt to lead them to a favourable outlook on the Autobots. They were convinced that S7 was bad, which was good. It just didn’t seem like they trusted giant alien robots that can easily squish you. In the end, it was Ironhide that convinced the fiery-dispositioned mother that maybe the ‘alien toasters’ weren’t that bad. Of all people, it was the mech with the giant cannons that convinced a human mother that they were completely safe.

If you’re wondering how this unfolded, well I’ll tell you.

I was being scolded during my entire walk to the hangar, ready for another round of ‘training’ under Ironhide. She didn’t understand why or how, but as we stomped our way to the giant mech, he was willing to tell her exactly why we were doing this.

“Every 1 in 5 women have been raped at some point in their lives. Many more go unreported to the police. We must teach Sam how to defend herself against the male menaces inherent in your race.”

She was sold.

I started the first spar with the volunteering soldier and the parents watched me knock the surprised soldier flat on their back with an echoing thud. I stood tired and sweaty, but victorious… for the _first round_. I had apparently taken the soldier off-guard with my eagerness to follow Ironhide’s instruction. It didn’t happen again. Still, throughout our sparring, Judy celebrated my small victories with the full force of her body and spirit, dragging a reluctant and skeptical Ron into cheering for their daughter.

All the while, Ironhide rumbled critiques and corrections to my poor form.

“Widen your stance a bit, or a slight push will have you tumbling over!“

“More strength!”

“No, no, you’ve got to hold it like _this_.”

“We’ll build some muscle in you yet.”

When the exercise was done, I was escorted to a shower and then back to the hangar to relax at a table near the ‘bots. There was a comfortable silence until Ron seemed to give in.

“Well, maybe some robot aliens are okay,” Ron said reluctantly.

“Autobots,” I interjected tiredly.

“Did you see our baby kick that guy’s ass!”

That was a more memorable moment with everyone together. It took concerted efforts to include the ‘bots in conversation with Sam’s parents, to cement the vague feelings of acceptance into something solid and truthful. It also allowed some odd friendships to flourish. One is obviously between Judy and Ironhide, to Ron’s chagrin. Sam’s mother has an odd exhuberance when it comes to Ironhide and his lessons with me. It seems they’ve struck an accord.

Ron wasn’t left out, however reluctant he was to be dragged into it. I know for a fact he’s been exchanging emails with Ratchet ever since we moved out of Hoover Dam. Over what, I have no idea. He won’t say.

As for me, it’s summer break and then back to school. After the stress of the Mission City disaster, I plan to take things a day at a time instead of worrying over every detail of the possible future ahead of us. I set aside money for a decent laptop for the 2007’s, I’m taking time to hang out with Bumblebee and get to know him better, and I of course am taking care of my newly acquired alien baby.

Because of Ellie, I keep in touch with Ratchet and have virtual check-ups using Bumblebee as a go-between. It’s not ideal, and Bumblebee needed to install a modification to his sensor array to accommodate us—something I thank him profusely for every time—but it’s good for now. I’ve been told a meetup is in the future, but things have been busy as the treaty is being ironed out. I keep a journal detailing basic ‘stats’ such as height/width, weight, diet, and other things about the little ‘bot for my own reference.

I spend so much time with the baby ‘bot and Bee that I don’t even notice when I stop spending as much time with the few human friends I have.

When Judy brings it up to me during our now customary mother-daughter bonding time, I realize the truth. It has been hard… feeling isolated from all my apparent peers… having to put up airs and pretend to be someone I’m not. I feel so disinterested in typical girl talk, and by now my friendship with Miles has dwindled to infrequent trips to see the latest superhero/action films or to fast food joints to eat. I feel bad for Sam, because I know they must have been great bros or something. But I feel nothing but tired in their presence. It wasn’t my intention to push people away, but I must have been subconsciously doing it.

In the wake of this realization, I just feel… old and tired.

==

The soft, dulcet tones from my computer speakers strike an amazing contrast against the storm outside the window. The wind rattles the window frame, and with a wary glance I wonder if it’s going to break the glass in. That would be unfortunate, considering Sam’s bed is right next to the window, and I’m in it. What a severe storm…

Placing my hand cautiously on the wind-buffeted glass, I peer into the dark that’s settled on our side of the globe. Judy and Ron are asleep. _Most_ people are asleep. I have many excuses as to why I’m not asleep yet: I’m coding, my schoolwork, personal study, I’m not tired…

Despite my trying, I can’t help but look frequently back to the garage with a frown.

_He’s there alone in that shitty garage in this storm. He says it’s his duty as my guardian, but he honestly deserves so much better than that._

I reluctantly look away, and glance over the room I’m accomodating.

Baby ‘bot is sleeping beside me in bed. They’re tucked in already. The lights are off except for a dim reading light I have on, so I can read in bed without disturbing them. I resist the urge to gently rub their helm, not wanting to wake them. Despite the storm raging outside, the baby should remain in deep recharge the whole night if they’re undisturbed. I’m jealous.

I glance over Sam’s computer, which has mostly been abandoned by me except for the occasional research for school.

My eyes end up falling on the laptop I’d bought recently. I’ve set it up with all the software and protections I could ever need. It’s not as great as the laptop I had in my world and time, but it’s decent enough to do what I need to do with it. It even has an optical drive (how outdated!), which I can use to run discs for software or media.

Media.

 _Well, there’s an idea,_ I think. A plan starts to form in my head.

==

With a bundle wrapped up in a shopping bag in my arms and a blanket draped over my shoulders, I run from the house to the garage. As soon as I exit the house I am face-first into an invisible wall of strong wind and pouring rain. I huff, wobbling on my feet, but I stubbornly correct my trajectory. I take a shortcut across the grass, expecting that Ron will be asleep.

Hastily throwing up the door to the garage, I dart inside and slam it back down with a huff. From behind me, I can hear Bumblebee whistle in alarm at the clatter.

 _Sam,_ I can almost hear in the whistle’s inflection.

“Yeah, hey Bee. Um, one second, gonna- gonna put this down.”

Gently, I place the shopping bag down, not revealing its contents yet. I then take the blanket off my shoulders, examining it. It’s not _too_ wet. I was only out in the rain for a little bit. I could probably dry this off pretty quickly. Futilely, I shake the blanket, trying to get the excess water off. It doesn’t really do much. Frowning, I look for a place to hang it instead. Bee transforms while I do this, and for once I don’t openly stare at the shifting metal. I’m focused on the tasks at hand. Finally finding a place for the blanket to dry, I whip around to face my big, friendly giant with an excited smile on my lips and hands on my hips.

“So I couldn’t sleep,” I start, “and I had this _idea_.”

Bumblebee tilts his head curiously.

“I know it’ll be.. not as awesome as watching it on a big screen, but I thought… we could watch a movie together? I brought over a few to choose from. We can use my laptop to play it!”

Anxiously, I wait for his response. Now that it’s said aloud, it seems like a lame idea. He’s huge, and my laptop is comparatively tiny. Would he even enjoy this? I shuffle awkwardly after the thought, self-consciously wrapping my arms around my middle. The wind buffets the garage noisily, only making my nerves worse. Meanwhile, Bee’s antennae perk up as he simply stares at me for a moment… a short moment, in which I search his face for signs of distaste. But, then he lets out a happy metal-sounding squeal, hands moving in excitement. _He reminds me of a big kid sometimes_ , I think with a laugh.

“I’m glad you like the idea. I was worried… nevermind. Hey, maybe we can get a projector in here sometime? How much do those cost, anyway…”

I mutter, mostly to myself as I carefully empty the bag of its contents: one laptop with an optical drive, and several movies that are action/sci-fi flicks, romantic comedies—even some B-movies that I thought would be hilarious. Waving at Bee to shuffle back a bit, the ‘bot does so carefully. He’s not quite small enough to be able to stand in the garage, and I doubt the walls can hold his full weight so he can’t lean back, but hopefully we can find something that works.

Gosh, I really wish we had a bigger space to hang out… a bigger house, maybe somewhere out in the boonies so he can transform and not worry about the consequences. But, realistically, it’s probably not going to happen anytime soon and I’m still not sure if I’ll still be here by the time Sam turns 18. My hands fiddle with the box of one of the movies in my arms, just staring idly at it while I think. **If** I’m still here… _no,_ I chastise myself, _focus on the moment. None of that sad stuff!_

“Sam?”

I jump a little at the sound of Bee’s voice. Looking up into Bee’s optics, I blink dumbly and realize that I must have worried him when I stopped suddenly.

Coughing a little, I overexaggerate my movements as I present the first movie to him. _Ta-da!_ “This one’s an action/sci-fi! It’s probably super funny considering you’re much more advanced than us, but we can choose to watch this if you like.”

I show him a few more options before we settle for _I Am Legend_. I pop the disc in, tilt the screen to be at a good angle for both of us, and then wait for it to load before going to check on the blanket. It’s dry enough that I don’t mind using it. I see Bee sit down heavily, with one leg bent and the other splayed out at an angle. He leans an arm against the bent leg and props his head up in a servo. He looks super casual, which eases some of the tension I’m holding. Carrying the blanket over to him, I plop myself between his legs and cover myself with the blanket. Bee adjusts himself to be more comfortable and give me more room. I lean back against him, trying to get comfortable, but then think twice as I feel him stiffen behind me.

 _Oh, no_. I might’ve just made things awkward. I turn around to look at him.

“Is… is this okay?” I ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Bumblebee nods quickly, but I hesitate, “Are you sur-“

Maybe fed up with my self-doubt, his servo gently eases me back into his body, interrupting my question. I huff a short laugh.

“Okay, okay. Let’s watch this.”

==

The first movie goes great, though there’s a moment when a dog dies and I am embarrassingly inconsolable. Bumblebee freaks out and rubs my arm (he can’t really reach my back in our position) like he usually does to calm me, but I just turn and cry on him, saying things like _it’s not fair_ and _not the dog damn it_. When he attempts to wipe my tears away with his huge fingers, I hiccup-laugh. Hiccaugh. It’s ridiculous, but I feel a small fire light itself inside me at his attempt.

 _Bee,_ I think fondly. I snuggle further into the ‘bot with my blanket and we continue our movie with no more interruptions.

After the movie ends, we choose a rom-com. It’s not one I recognize from my world, or maybe it’s just one that wasn’t very popular. _Voca Mocha_. Apparently, it’s about an older musician trying to write a love song. I thought it sounded interesting from the premise, so I brought it with me. I’m not sure what Cybertronians think about romance, but it might be a good introduction to a human perspective on it.

The movie starts slow, introducing the musician as a regular at a café. It’s a little cliché, but I don’t mind it. When the movie pans to the audience, we can see our lead actress watching enthralled in the wings. A time lapse happens, and our two leads finally meet by chance.

Later on, the musician is with the female lead, playing songs for her. The musician on the screen croons a soft, unfinished melody while calmly strumming a guitar. Something in me unwinds, and I close my eyes.

I don’t see how Bumblebee leans in, his optics focusing intensely on the laptop’s small screen.

I don’t see the end of the movie, where the musician and the woman he pines for sweetly kiss among string lights and blooming flowers.

I don’t see anything, because I fall asleep, cradled gently by a friendly giant’s servo.

==

_And what we never say is “I love you…”_

_But I **love** you._

_I love you…_

==

I’ve never been that obsessed with my looks or health, but feeling a bit off one morning, I do a self-examination, like I was taught to do in my old life. I admit it has been a while since I’ve had to do it. I stand naked in the bathroom mirror examining myself head to toe. For a body-snatcher, nothing seems out of sorts visually. Feeling around, I don’t seem to have any weird lumps indicating breast cancer, cysts, or other conditions. Redressing, I take my vitals and height. Nothing too complicated, just my blood-pressure, resting heartrate, weight, and such.

My blood-pressure is normal, though my resting heartrate as I record it is higher than I expect it to be. Huh. Well, I know I’m a naturally anxious person, so… Onto height, I’m not sure whether 5’9’’ is abnormal for Sam, but I have been noticing my pants getting a little tight and short—the cuffs well above where they would comfortably be. _Well, nothing to worry about there, I’m a growing boy/girl,_ I think. It’s when I weigh myself that I start freaking out.

Holy crap, I’m heavy. Like, shockingly heavy. How the heck am I weighing in at almost 200 lbs?!

I start breathing heavily and quickly, my immediate thoughts telling me the scale must be wrong. Maybe the scale’s broken? It rests at 0 when nothing is on it, so nope, it’s fine. My mind starts racing to conclusions a normal 16-17 year old wouldn’t be making. I must be pregnant with an alien baby, I must be mutating like some crazy X-Men character, I must be this or that… Isn’t my height a little tall for an average teen my age? I convert the numbers and check my BMI. These numbers would only make sense if I was over six foot three! _This isn’t natural. I’m a freak of nature,_ I think as I curl up into the foetal position.

I stay that way for a while, not hearing the small thump of tiny pedes falling from my bed to the floor and the tiny pitter patter of their approach.

A cute warble and tiny hands on my arms pull me out of my circling worries. I sweep my baby into my embrace and rock back and forth, taking deep and calming breaths.

 _Maybe I’m eating too much_ , comes the final and more normal conclusion. I slowly uncurl, remaining on the floor and thinking about it more seriously. I mean, I have been hungrier lately. I just chocked it up to being a teenager. Though it _is_ weird if I visually look the same as ever, right?

==

The next few days after my freak-out, my distress doesn’t exactly go away. All attempts to play it off fail miserably, worrying the parents and guardian. Having reduced my intake, I’m constantly hungry and tired. Visual inspections in the mirror don’t seem to show me gaining chub, but actually becoming skinnier and bonier. All that yet I’m still at a whopping 200 lbs. This isn’t normal weight gain. It’s worrying and baffles the mind.

What the hell is going on?

After weighing myself again, I tear furiously out of my room and outside to the garage. Bee whirrs at me curiously as I simply walk up to him and plop down next to him. Sensing the mood, he sits quietly next to me as I lean heavily into his arm.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. Eventually, we’re interrupted by my stomach’s gurgle.

“I’m worried about you,” Bee states bluntly, “You’re eating less and you seem tired all the time.”

I don’t say anything, but I grip the edges of his armour tightly as I stare blankly into the garage floor.

“You fell asleep at the wheel as I drove us to school, and it hasn’t been the first time.”

I hate to admit it… but he’s right. He has a right to be worried. Something _is_ wrong with me. I’m just not sure how to deal with it.

“I’m…” I start before stopping. There’s a lump in my throat that’s hard to speak around, and my eyes are starting to water. “It’s stupid. _I’m_ stupid… I was feeling off, so I weighed myself. I’m _heavier_.”

Bee’s tone is gentle but firm when he responds. “You’re not stupid, Sam. You’re smart and kind. I wish you would stop doubting yourself… You don’t appear to be unhealthy, so why does your weight bother you?”

Feeling myself flush at the compliment, I turn and bury my face into his arm with a light ‘thump’ reverberating as my head hits the hard surface. I don’t care about how ridiculous it seems. I’ll cuddle the bug as much as I can cuddle a giant robot.

“It wouldn’t bother me if it was just normal weight,” I admit, mumbling into his arm, “It’s just not manifesting as chub or added height. I look exactly the same, but _ridiculously heavier!_ I feel like a—well… Not normal, I guess.”

“I could try scanning you with the new modifications Ratchet added,” Bee offers.

I hesitate, thinking about it, but then pull my head from his arm to shake my head. “No… It’s fine. I’m probably just freaking out over nothing. I’ll start eating until I’m full again, and see if anything changes. Maybe I’m going through a weird growth spurt. I don’t know.”

“Have you told your parents about your worries?”

“No!” I reject immediately, “They have enough to worry about. I pulled them into a world of _giant alien robots_ and _dangerous government organizations_. The last thing they need is their teenage daughter developing an eating disorder from obsessing about some weight.”

“Sam…”

Forcing a smile onto my face, I look up into his optics. “Bee, I appreciate your worry. It shows me you care. But trust me on this—if it wasn’t something I thought I could deal with, I would ask _someone_ for help… Like a doctor.” After a second, I add teasingly, “Or you, Mr. Nurse.”

He nudges me gently at that last bit. His next words convey worry, but grudging acceptance of my attempt to pacify him. “Promise me you’ll tell someone if something seems wrong. No matter how small.”

His eyes are steady with mine. I don’t know how to describe how I feel, trying to decipher their true meaning and depth so I can know how to respond. His baby blues are somehow different from the clear sky of Optimus’ optics, or even Ratchet’s electric blue. Bee’s optics have an energy and warmth to them that call to me, and yet deep down—knowing what I know—Bumblebee must have seen some shit, which I can never understand the complete cruelty and unfairness of. To be able to turn to me with such compassion and companionship after all that, I can’t put into words how much it means to me.

To know I’ve worried him… What do I even say?

“I promise.”

==

A week later, things have stayed relatively the same, except I have started eating more like I said I would.

However, when my weight starts going down rapidly despite my increase in consumption, only new worries arise. In reaction, I simply increase my intake. Logical, right? I mean, I should probably mention these worries to someone but I feel reluctant to admit such a minor issue after all the shit I’ve gone through. _I’ve got this_ , I think stubbornly, _this could be bad but I’m an adult damn it. I can manage my own weight._

My weight fluctuates dramatically for a couple weeks more.

If Bumblebee starts noticing the increased number of snacks I start carrying with me, he doesn’t comment on it.

To decrease my tiredness, I start planning in some power naps. I warn my parents beforehand so that they know not to interrupt me. The naps sort of help, but I still notice I’m excessively tired every morning, as if I’m back in college missing sleep to meet a deadline. I squish my cheeks in the morning and forge a smile through the exhaustion seeping from my very bones. _You can do this,_ I chant in the mirror.

Despite my worries, things are going pretty okay otherwise. My relationship with my—Sam’s—parents is strong and my baby is healthy. With the new laptop and the car, I’ve exhausted pretty much the rest of the funds I had planned to have. The laptop is nothing too impressive, _nothing_ this year compares to my future/past, but it can do what I need it to.

No, life isn’t ideal, it’s not ‘normal’, but it’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything’s… fine.

==

_“Just like the white-winged dove, sings a song, sounds like she’s singing… Ooh, baby, ooh, say ooh.”_

As Bumblebee plays his radio I sing along, and I put some real effort into it. Part of it is hyper-awareness of the ‘bot and his opinion on my singing, but the majority of it is pure love for music. I used to be very into music in my past life, taking up a number of instruments whenever I wasn’t tinkering with my computer. Singing was something I’d always done and was known to do. Unprofessionally, I mean. Doing the dishes or cleaning the house? Singing. Taking a shower? Singing. Taking a walk? Humming, at the very least. I loved it even more when people sang along. Music used to be a way to bond with family and people I cared about. Silly songs, pop songs…

I didn’t realize before now how much I’ve been missing it.

_“Just like the white-winged dove, sings a song, sounds like she’s singing…”_

As I sing, I stand up from where I was leaning against Bumblebee’s vehicle mode and approach the cliff, staring out at the scenery. The setting sun beams directly into my poor eyeballs, but it lights up the valley below nicely. Shadows from trees, rocks, and grass are stark black against the fiery orange cast from the ball of gas in the sky.

Something in my mind flashes, a memory or familiarity with where I am and what event is supposed to happen, but it’s vague and unclear. The memory is distorted, not quite right, and I have trouble recalling what is important about this time and place. Maybe the perspective isn’t quite right, or it could be that something is missing from the scene.

I can hear my baby playing in the grass, but it doesn’t make me happier.

_“Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing…”_

My voice trails off as I frown. This isn’t like me. I _know_ the plot of the movies. I’ve watched it plenty of times, so I should know this.

I don’t.

The radio continues to croon. _“Ooh, baby, ooh, say ooh…”_

A foreboding chill rocks my spine, and I cross my arms as if to ward off the cold. The radio cuts out as Bumblebee’s voice comes through.

“Sam? You okay? You stopped singing.”

I do a 180 to face the ‘bot-turned-Camaro, a confused look on my face.

“Are we… expecting anyone?”

Bee is silent for a second, before answering, “No, not that I’m aware of. Why?”

I don’t answer right away, weighing whether it’s important or not.

“It’s nothing. Just a weird feeling, like I’m forgetting something, or something is missing.”

After a beat, he mentions, “Is it a vision?”

“Maybe.” I quickly change topic, “So is it safe for you to transform? It’s kind of awkward talking to a car, to be honest.”

A transformation sequence follows. My face lights up with glee. I love seeing them transform. It’s beyond cool. I ask if I can sit on his shoulder like some weird parrot. He acquiesces with amusement.

“You really like to be picked up, don’t you? You’re the only human that seems to like that.”

I settle on his shoulder and smooth my hand down the side of his helm affectionately. I feel a minute tremor, but as soon as I notice it, it’s gone.

“It hurts my neck to stare up at you all the time,” I excuse myself with a smile, then ask a bit more seriously, “Does it bother you when I touch you?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

I don’t quite believe him. “Are you lying?”

“Also no.”

I hum in thought, then decide to take him at his word. I don’t know what’s running through my head next, but I decide to run my hand over the antenna closest to me, exploring it with my hands. I feel a swell of curiosity.

“You are so cool, you know that? Being able to see you up close is exciting and awesome.”

Seeing my curiosity, he explains, “Those control receiving and sending transmissions, like communication between Autobots and the radio.”

He turns his head toward me slightly, and I move my attentions to his face. Indulging me, he slowly turns more to allow me to trace my way from the yellow plating surrounding the front of his head to the grey bits that hold his eyes and mouth. I hum audibly while my hands focus intently on the grate-looking bit where his mouth would be on a human.

“And this?” I ask softly.

“When my vocal processor was damaged, I needed a way to communicate. This was the solution. It handles some Basic and Scout,” he explains quietly, and hearing the importance in those nouns in this context I assume they are languages, “Unfortunately it isn’t able to reproduce human speech.”

“As much as I like your well-timed radio clips, I do prefer having these conversations with you,” I admit with a smile, “Thank Primus for Ratchet.”

The irises of Bumblebee’s optics seem to refocus on my face, rather intently, and I blink at the attention.

Bee’s tone is odd when he asks, “You know of Primus?”

“Other than him being some kind of god or creator? Not much, unfortunately.” I say, then hesitantly ask, “Was what I said offensive in some way?”

Bee shakes his head minutely, gently dislodging my hands. I pull them back to myself, clasping them in my lap anxiously.

“It’s a little odd, but not offensive in the way you used it. To thank Primus for something earnestly is one thing, but I would be more careful using it in a different context. Not everyone believes in Primus, but there are some that take offence for his name used in vain.”

“Oh,” I say simply, not sure what to say to that.

Thinking back to the first time I used Primus’ name, I say with some distraction, “I didn’t realize that. When I was interacting with the All-Spark for the first time, it kind of just… slipped out. I just managed to ask—well, beg really—for the cube to shrink to a carryable size when I said, ‘ _Oh thank Primus.’_ ” I exaggerate the quote to show the sheer relief I had at the time I first said it. “I then felt this wave of amusement coming from the cube—”

“-You felt what?” Bee interrupts in shock.

He grabs me from my perch, and after a squeak of surprise I force myself to relax in his hold. I’m deposited in his free palm in front of his face, and I sit up immediately. I warily stare into the yellow Autobot’s optics.

“… Yes? Don’t you… feel it? When it’s nearby?” I ask slowly.

He shakes his head, “No. The cube isn’t exactly sentient. Or at least, we didn’t think it was. It showed rudimentary intelligence to perform its tasks, but to actually feel… Are you sure you weren’t sensing something else? Maybe projecting your own emotions?”

I frown at Bumblebee. “I know it sounds crazy, but I can tell what emotions aren’t mine, and that amusement certainly was not.”

The Autobot’s optics dim, and I guess he’s either googling something or contacting someone. Maybe both? After about half a minute of waiting, I can’t take it anymore and I speak up.

“What’s wrong?” I ask nervously, “I mean, so what if I could feel something from the cube. That doesn’t have to mean something bad, right?”

“We always knew you were special, but we didn’t realize how much. It could be nothing, but just in case, Ratchet wants to take a look at you.”

I fold my arms. “Is that really necessary…”

“Sam, please.”

I slouch in a display of discomfort and rebellion. “I feel fine! I’m having trouble regulating my weight, but other than that I feel perfectly fine. I’m sure this is completely unnecessary.”

Bee makes a pitiful whine and oh my god how is he doing that puppy dog look. “Please, Sam. Do it for me?”

I feel an unreasonable swell of embarrassment, seeing him pull that sad face on me, especially so close up. I can feel myself start to cave. I complain, “Don’t look at me like that!”

He starts to lean in and his optics waver like he’s about to cry. I know he’s playing it up, but my will shatters. I can’t say no to this ‘bot.

“Agh, fine! I’ll sit still for whatever your medic wants from me. Just stop.” I plaster my hands on his face, trying to push him away from me with as much strength as I can muster. He giggles at my meager attempts and pulls away finally.

It occurs to me then that there hasn’t been free time for the rest of the Autobots to pull away from whatever negotiation and preparation they were doing for NEST. I sit up straight, asking, “Wait, does that mean we’re meeting up? I thought they were too busy for that.”

“We haven’t told you or your parents yet, but we’ve finished drafting the Non-biological Extraterrestrial Species Treaty, and have finished negotiations with your government about a base. From now on, we’ll be drafting rules and procedures, as well as gathering human soldiers to fight for NEST. That doesn’t require us to be necessarily at Hoover Dam all the time.”

I bounce in excitement, shifting forward until my legs dangle from his servo. I swish my legs back and forth. “That’s great news! I was worried I’d complicated things when I took shelter with you guys from Sector 7.”

I feel thankful remembering him telling me that Sector 7 has been, at least officially, disbanded.

 _“Oh ye of little faith,”_ Bee’s radio plays.

At the mention of NEST though, something important scratches at the back of my mind. There’s something really important I need to say.

“That reminds me… Didn’t I have something important to tell you?”

“You did say that,” Bee commented, “I figured you would want to wait until we all met up again.”

That might be for the best. I say with determination, “Later, then.”

==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked writing this chapter. :D
> 
> I've been meaning to mention this officially for a while, but I may take more time to upload than normal. I had pre-written a bunch of chapters beforehand, which let me post pretty quickly. We'll soon be catching up, though. The plan is to take a week or two to write each subsequent chapter, maybe a bit longer depending on my level of inspiration.
> 
> As for how you can help, simply do as you would normally do. I love reviews, but they're not necessary. :) kudos and stuff helps too. Anyways, thanks for all your feedback so far!


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